Unintended Consequences
by TheFisherKitty
Summary: A family disaster will leave one of the Marshals depending on their partner more than ever, leading to consequences neither had forseen. M&M. Now rated M. Very AU as of "Son of Mann".
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own In Plain Sight or Mary, Marshall, or Stan. If you know where I can get me a Marshall, I'm all over it!**

**Author's Note: First fanfic. I hope y'all enjoy it! Chapter 1 is a bit short but I thought I'd see if people are interested before I give up too much plot. =)**

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 1**

Mary slid her key into the Probe's ignition. The battered car growled at her, coughed, spluttered and died. She tried again, and was rewarded only with a weak rumble for her efforts. The third turn of the key produced no reaction at all.

The Probe certainly wouldn't be doing any probing anytime soon.

_Crap, just when I thought I had a shot at beating Marshall to work for once._ Mary belligerently reached for her cell, belligerently dialed, and belligerently demanded a ride from her bemused partner. Marshall had just been heading out the door himself, and assured her that he would arrive shortly.

When Marshall arrived, Mary was still glaring at her car through slitted eyelids and chewing anxiously at her lower lip as she contemplated the vehicle's fate. There were not many material possessions that she had allowed herself to form any attachment to, but the car was such an object. Like Biscuit the bear, like the letters from her father, the car mattered in a way that precious few things ever would. It was her independence objectified. The car was…

"The car," Marshall interrupted her train of thought, "is dead, again? You really should consider trading it in… though it might be difficult to persuade a dealer to take it off your hands."

"Can it, Doofus. We're gonna be late if we don't haul ass." Mary rummaged in the Probe's trunk for her go bag, buried under junk of uncertain origin. _Where does this crap come from? _Mary wondered as her hands found the bag and latched on.

"You say that as if you weren't going to be late anyway."

Marshall grimaced as Mary socked him in the shoulder, if only to cover the fact that he wanted to smile instead.

* * *

When they arrived in the office, Stan was waiting for them.

"Hey, you two. Your new witness isn't coming in today. Some whacko called in a bomb threat to the airport and the relocation couldn't wait, so they sent him to the Detroit office instead. They didn't have anything pressing and had time to do a threat assessment and process him in." Having delivered his information, Stan retreated to his office.

"Sweet!" Mary called out. "No MOU to go over today! No whining, no tears, no false promises made by those dopes at the FBI…" She happily began settling in at her desk, chomping on a doughnut Marshall had stopped to buy for her on the way there.

Marshall rolled his eyes at her dramatically, but he, too, was secretly pleased. The file on their would-be witness had indicated a particularly neurotic individual with excessive paranoid tendencies and profound behavioral problems. Marshall figured he would have had to spent most of his time protecting the guy from Mary's temper rather than the people who wanted him dead.

As Marshall was rummaging through his desk drawer, Stan popped back out and beckoned to him. "Marshall, you've got a call in my office. It's your mother and she says it's an emergency."

Marshall's alarm was evident as he bolted from his chair and into Stan's office, closing the door behind him. Mary's brow furrowed in concern as she turned to Stan. "Did she say what was wrong? Why did she call you and not Marshall's cell? How did she even know how to reach you?"

Stan held out a placating hand. "I have no idea what the emergency is. She told me she got a number for this office from her husband's former office because she was worried about calling Marshall in case he was in the field."

"Huh. Practical and smart. Must be where Marshall gets it from," Mary muttered distractedly as she watched her partner through the blinds. Her concern grew as she saw him run his hand through his hair, never a good sign, and then lean heavily on the desk. He nodded a few times as he talked, then hung up the phone. Mary's anxiety kicked up another notch when, before coming out, Marshall rested his hand over his eyes and took a moment to compose himself.

_Whatever it is, it looks bad._

By the time Marshall opened the door, Mary was already out of her seat. The look on Marshall's face did nothing to set her at ease; in fact, Mary had never known him to look so upset, even with the obvious effort he was putting into controlling his feelings. She impulsively put her hand on his shoulder, and Marshall looked at her as though he had forgotten where he was. _Yeah, it's bad, _Mary thought as she read his eyes.

Seeming to gain composure from her touch, Marshall spoke, his voice unsteady.

"My father is in the hospital and… they don't expect him to hold on much longer. Stan, I need to go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did.**

**Author's Note: Sorry to spoon-feed you guys another short chapter but I have a ratings question I want to sort out first. The F-bomb: is that T, or M?**

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 2**

"My father is in the hospital and… they don't expect him to hold on much longer. Stan, I need to go home."

* * *

Mary's grip on Marshall's shoulder tightened reflexively. She knew he was a lot closer to flying apart at the seams than he appeared. He was close to his parents. When they met, he told her that he spoke to his mother every day and his father once a week. She had played it off like it was the dumbest thing she had ever heard… the way she played off everything he said about his parents that made her feel jealous. No, that wasn't quite it. When he talked about his parents, deep down, she couldn't help but feel inferior, as if she had been raised by wolves.

_No. Being raised by wolves just might have been better than being raised by Jinx._

For all that Marshall appeared to be happy, calm, serene even, in his day to day life, Mary knew that his contentment, and possibly his very being, rested on a particular set of circumstances: the well-being of the people he loved.

_Like his parents. Like… me? No no no, can't go there, not now, not ever… well, at least not now. _

Mary watched the partner she always depended on struggling to keep it together. The possibility of him falling apart had her close to panic, but she knew that it was beyond Marshall's abilities to handle her falling apart as well as himself. She held it in, her steadying hand on his arm doing as much to ground her as it did to hold him together.

"Marshall, you know you can have all the time you need," Stan replied, "anything you need. I'll make it happen."

"Thanks, Stan. I have to get on the phone, call the airlines…"

"Marshall…" Mary's eyes widened in horror. "The airport…"

"Oh God, the bomb threat. Goddammit. The whole thing's shut down, probably all day." Stan ran a hand over his bald head in distress.

Marshall's eyes pinched shut, and Mary felt him begin to shake. Someone needed to take charge here, and it didn't seem to Mary as if Marshall had the resources to do so.

"Okay, Marshall, your parents are, what, like an eight hour drive from here?"

His eyes opened, met hers, searching to see where she was going with this. Almost pleading for her to have a plan, because he didn't. He nodded an affirmative.

"Alright. Here's what we're gonna do. Stan's gonna let us take one of the official Marshal Service SUVs, with the exempted plates. Then he's gonna call ahead to state cops and highway patrol here and in Texas, and get the word out that we'll be hauling ass through their jurisdiction. We can make it in five hours if I'm driving."

"Um, Mary…" Stan waffled, "That might be considered an abuse of government resources…"

Mary turned her gaze to him, her eyes blazing fiercely. "You said _anything, _Stan. I'd say this falls under the umbrella of _anything._" Her tone was laced with danger, and her eyes suggested violence.

Stan was no fool, and he really had intended to give them anything they needed. Mary's impending rage served to strengthen his resolve. "I'll fill out the travel request for you. You know where to find the keys. And you're both cleared for all the time you need. My superiors be damned." Mary had the keys in her hand before Stan finished talking.

"Mary," Marshall finally spoke. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to put everything on hold for me." And still, she saw she pleading in his eyes, and knew this was exactly what he needed. _Jesus, he looks like a lost puppy. Like I could really leave him to fend for himself like this._

"Marshall, you're shaking like a leaf. You're in no shape to drive to your parents' place at all, let alone at the ridiculously excessive speeds I'll be going. Besides," her tone shifted to one of gratitude, "it's nothing you wouldn't do for me."

Marshall's eyes had teared up, but he choked back the raw emotion that had welled up in him at her words. He knew, even now, that she depended on him not to fall apart, and he wanted to hold that line. For her. He nodded slowly, any further protests he might have made silenced by a single truth: he could not do this alone.

Mary slid her hand down his arm and, clasping his hand in her own, she made for the elevator with Marshall in tow behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue!**

**Author's Note: To all my wonderful reviewers, thank you! And please don't hate me, because this is going to be a scrape-Marshall-off-the-pavement chapter, if you know what I mean. WARNING: Use of the F-word toward the end. Hope you don't mind!**

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 3**

The open road spooled out behind them, bounded on either side by desert scrub for the first two hours, and later a curious mix of cacti and riparian growth. The SUV devoured the distance, spurred on in its urgency by Mary's lead foot. Marshall had collapsed into a fitful nap about an hour after they had set out. It was unlike him to sleep in the car unless they were planning to trade off, but Mary knew it was his mind's way of coping with the news he had received earlier. She wouldn't begrudge him this one escape; it might be the last he would have for a while.

They had rushed out of the office, stopping at Marshall's vehicle to collect their go bags. Mary had spied a garment bag hanging in the back and had grabbed that too, suspecting it contained the suit he usually wore to court. She thought it best to just get in the car and go with the clothes and toiletries in their go bags and the suit. If they stopped at his place they'd lose half an hour on driving alone, and countless precious minutes deciding what to take. They had enough to get by until the situation could be assessed, and whatever else they needed, they could buy. Mary didn't like to spend unnecessarily, but it was situations like this that credit cards were invented for, as far as she was concerned.

She wouldn't have any appropriate funeral wear, if it came to that. But Marshall was covered, and she would be able to handle shopping for something. He wouldn't.

Mary eyed the gas gauge, pensively chewing her lip. Stops for gas on this route were few and far between, and she resolved to stop at the next opportunity. Luckily, the next opportunity had an attached sandwich shop, so she bought lunch after fueling up. Marshall waited with the vehicle, as the plan was to get food to go and eat on the road. He watched Mary through the shop window as she handed over a few bills and waited for their subs.

His cell phone went off in his pocket. He looked at it, not recognizing the number, but the area code… it had to be his mom calling from the hospital. He picked up.

"Hello? Mom?"

"Marshall, honey…" his mother's voice sounded more strained than it had this morning, thick with tears. His heart dropped with the speed and force of a boulder off a cliff.

"What is it, Mom?" he asked, trying and failing to keep a tremor out of his voice.

"It's your daddy. He's asking for you and… and I think this is gonna be the last time you get to talk to him, sweetheart."

"Oh God, Mom…" Marshall's voice broke. Then his father's voice came on the line.

"Son," he said, in the gruff voice Marshall had always known, but so weak he sounded like he was far away.

"Dad?" Marshall choked out.

"Son, I don't think I can wait until you get here."

"Dad, no…"

"Marshall. You're my boy and I love you. I've never been prouder of anyone in my life than I am of you. You carry with you everything that this family stands for."

Marshall could hear his father wheezing softly, and knew he was still there. He also knew that whatever he said next would be the last thing his father ever heard.

"Dad, I love you. I love you…"

Another wheeze, and another. And then, nothing.

"Dad? _Dad?_"

For a moment, there was only silence.

And then, his mother's voice, ragged with grief.

"Baby, he's gone…"

* * *

Mary emerged from the sub shop juggling a bag and two cups of iced tea. She cursed softly as she dropped the bag, and stooped to pick it up. As she did, she heard something that slipped into her heart like a knife; Marshall's voice steeped in panic.

"Dad, I love you. I love you…" he called out, his voice raised. A pause.

"Dad? _Dad?_" Mary could hear his tone shift from barely controlled panic to being completely frantic. She watched as he listened for a moment, and then collapsed back against the side of the SUV as his face contorted in anguish. She dropped the drinks and ran to him.

"Oh God… Oh God…" he whimpered into the phone as he slid to the ground. In a heartbeat, Mary was on her knees next to him. _Shit, this is bad!_

"Marshall? Marshall, talk to me," Mary cried, terrified at his condition. His eyes slid to her, but his gaze had an unfocused quality, as though he wasn't really seeing her.

"He's gone, Mare. My dad's gone."

The cell phone slipped from his fingers and clattered on the ground. Mary scooped it up.

"Hello?"

"What's happened to Marshall?" the female voice on the line asked. _Marshall's mom, _Mary realized.

"He's okay, Mrs. Mann, he's right here. He just can't… he can't talk right now."

"I understand… are you… is this his partner?"

"Mary, yes."

"Mary. He's talked about you," Marshall's mother offered distractedly. Mary thought the poor woman was probably being polite out of habit. "You'll take care of him for me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Mann, I will," Mary's voice hitched, close to tears. The woman's grief was thick in her voice and Mary hurt for her as she did for Marshall.

"I have to go now, there are people to call," the sad voice stated, and then the line clicked off. Mary closed the phone and tucked it into her pocket. Her attention fell to Marshall.

"That was my mom, on the phone, just now," he murmured irrelevantly. He started to pick himself up, turned toward the SUV, but that was as far as he got before his eyes crushed shut and he sank to his knees. Mary had never seen him look so defeated.

"Marshall…" she tentatively put a hand on his arm. He trembled for a moment. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he threw a vicious punch into the car door.

"_Fuck!" _he shouted, and punched the SUV again. He broke down into sobs as he sank forward, leaning his head against the vehicle's side. "Fuck," he muttered again, so softly she could barely hear.

But she did hear, and she gathered the broken man into her arms as he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: If I owned In Plain Sight, I probably wouldn't torment the characters so much. Or would I? We'll never know, because I don't own any of it!**

**Author's Note: I'm so pleased to be getting so many reviews! Thank you all so much for your kindness and support. It's going to be a roller coaster for our heroes, ups and downs, peaks and valleys, but please stick with them even if it's sad!**

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 4**

Mary and Marshall sat on the ground next to the SUV in the gas station parking lot for close to half an hour. He had cried and raged in her arms, sounding for all the world like a wounded animal, while she shot nosy onlookers a death glare that ensured at least a shred of privacy. The register jockey had emerged to shoo them off, but a hard look and a flash of Mary's badge sent him packing as well. After perhaps fifteen minutes, Marshall had quieted, but showed no sign of getting up. He only clung to her, his face buried against her neck, an occasional soft moan of distress accompanying his breaths.

Mary gently stroked his hair as she contemplated their situation. True, there was now no reason to hurry, but he'd need to see his mom soon, and they would have to check in with Stan to let him know their arrival time had shifted. She stole a glance at her partner. She knew he was taking a time out, that he just needed to focus on existing, breath after breath. She knew how badly he needed to find a stable moment to get his feet back under him before he could go on. And she wondered if there was something she could have done differently to prevent things from turning out like this. Could she have gone faster? Not without running the risk of killing them both. They couldn't have started out earlier because they hadn't gotten the call earlier. They hadn't made any superfluous stops either. So why did she feel like she had failed Marshall when he needed her? Her brow furrowed at the thought.

Marshall began to stir at last, pulling back from her embrace with an embarrassed expression. Wordlessly, Mary helped him up and opened the passenger door to tuck him inside the SUV. He allowed her to guide him, as if he was on autopilot or just didn't really care what she did with him. Mary couldn't help but notice how he cradled his hand close to his chest. He probably couldn't even feel it right then, but his body knew that it was injured. Closing the door, Mary saw that it had two fist-sized dents in it. She stifled a shudder at the remembrance of the raw pain that had gone into those punches. She cast a worried glance at her partner and blew out a deep breath before turning away and going into the sandwich shop. She returned a moment later with some ice in a plastic bag.

She popped the tailgate on the SUV and pulled a shirt from her go bag, wrapping the ice inside. Then she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Stan. _Slowing down. No reason to hurry anymore. -Mary. _She couldn't bring herself to directly state that Marshall's father had died, but she knew Stan would understand her message as well as the reason for its somewhat cryptic nature. She closed the tailgate, went to the driver's side, and climbed in.

"Marshall," she called softly to her partner, who appeared to be somewhere else entirely. He started slightly, having been so distracted that he hadn't heard her get in. She put the makeshift ice pack in his good hand and then placed both on his injured one. He stared down at his hands and the ice, only just realizing he had hurt himself.

"Marshall, where were you just now?"

He looked at her, really focusing on her for the first time since before the phone call. She saw something in his eyes as he thought about her question. He looked completely lost.

"I was nowhere, Mare," he finally replied. "I didn't exist."

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Stan's cell chirped, announcing a text. He had been worrying about his Marshals on the road. He hoped it would be an update on their status, and not something like, "We're in jail because Highway Patrol wouldn't take no for an answer."

When he read it, the little bald man wished it had been about something like problems with the local agencies. That, he could fix.

* * *

They drove in silence, at a much slower pace. A journey undertaken in earnest had now become a journey to be completed out of necessity. Mary was worried by her partner's disturbing comment as they had left the gas station. She knew he was anchored by certain people in his life; that with the loss of his father, and so suddenly at that, he was now adrift. That was one thing. But talk of being nowhere and not existing at all frightened her badly. She couldn't bear it if he didn't exist. She would become anchorless without him. Adrift, like he was now. She couldn't let him continue to be so lost, for her sake or for his.

_Like it's that easy, to anchor someone. Get real, Mary Shannon. What do you know about being anybody's anchor? _

Mary chased the unpleasant thought away. Now wasn't a time for self-doubt. Now was the time to step up and help Marshall, however she had to… before she lost him.

_Marshall…_

She glanced sideways at the man riding beside her. His head rested against the window, his face slack, eyes searching the horizon. What he was looking for, she couldn't begin to guess. She snaked her hand over to his forearm, and at the contact, his good hand left the ice pack nestled with his damaged right hand in his lap, and entwined ice-chilled fingers with her own. His eyes never left the horizon.

She squeezed his hand gently, vowing silently to see him through this, no matter her own personal cost.

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The rest of the trip was a blur for Marshall. Even years later, he would be unable to recall it in its entirety. He knew that some amount of time had passed while he was on the ground in Mary's arms, but he didn't want to think about it too much. He found himself vaguely hoping no one had seen him, as weeping in public, at a gas station of all places, left much to be desired in the manliness department.

He had spent some of the trip staring at the ice pack soothing his hand, fascinated by the shirt wrapped around it. He could not help obsessing over the fact that it was Mary's shirt, as if that meant something important. He knew it didn't really matter, but he felt like it did; he was oddly touched that she had done that for him.

Ultimately, he had spent most of the time they were on the road watching the landscape roll by. He knew he spaced out during a great deal of that, and that Mary had probably thought he was nuts, but it was a small mercy to be able to stop thinking. The thinking was the worst.

Normally ordered thoughts had woven themselves into chaotic knots, tangles of obsessional obstacles and emotional land mines. Maybe this was what being Mary was like. Everyone thought she operated on pure animal instincts, but he suspected that it was actually a complicated web of thoughts she couldn't sort out that led her to do the odd things she did. He knew she had a hard time with introspection. There wasn't anything bad about her, but she was convinced there was; he thought perhaps she just didn't know where to begin untangling the mess.

He remembered something else. They had driven for a long, indeterminate while when Marshall pulled back from the tempting lure of searching for nothing in the distance, if only to wallow in a brief moment of hideously painful lucidity, but when he glanced down, he found her hand entangled with his. _These terrified, vague fingers. _The thought rose unbidden, and the corner of his mouth twitched. _I must have scared her half to death for her to be doing this._

And without warning, there it was: the snarl of emotions he could not overcome, unwelcome, accusatory thoughts rushing at him from the ether. Guilt. _Should have gotten there faster. _Shame. _Should have controlled myself. _Grief. _Oh God, my dad is gone, he's gone and oh God, my mother! My mother…_

Marshall choked back fresh tears and quickly returned to staring out the window, seeking, he now realized, oblivion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. I'll keep saying it until everybody believes it.**

**Author's Note: The wonderful reviews continue! So awesome, you guys! In this chapter, Marshall's enjoying a little swim in denial. I figured I had better give him a break before he, you know, breaks. Hope y'all enjoy!

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Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 5  
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Marshall awoke to find his face in something squishy, and he realized he had no idea where he was. He opened one eye in confusion. Fabric. Some kind of ribbed textile. The kind Mary's tank tops were made from. The squishiness, then… _boobs. I'm face-planted in Mary's boobs. The second she wakes up, I'm dead. _Enticing as her fleshy treasures were, self preservation won out, and Marshall pulled back… or at least attempted to. His retreat was blocked by the arms that were draped around him. _What the hell? Mary doesn't cuddle… What is going on here?_

And then he remembered. He was at his parents' house. Because his father had died. _Oh God, my dad… _The events of the previous day came back to him with crushing intensity and for a moment he had to struggle to breathe. Once that hurdle was overcome, he came back to the problem he was presently facing. _Mary. _She had been there with him, for all of it. They were sharing a room because more of his family was coming in today, and his mother didn't have the space. He had dreamed of his father, had woken up crying, and she had been there. Without a word, she had offered her embrace and he'd accepted. She must have stayed awake until he fell asleep again at least, because he remembered her stroking his hair. The arms still around him told Marshall that even in her sleep, she had not abandoned him. He was certain, however, that her loyalty didn't quite cover his face in her cleavage. He was still in peril.

She began to stir, and he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation of her rage, not that his heart wasn't already pounding like a rabbit's over the circumstances of his awakening. He was left with few options. Feigning sleep was the safest path to take; that way, he could at least plead innocence before she maimed him. He went as limp as possible, though in some places it wasn't possible at all, and tried to control his breathing. A hand pushed insistently at his shoulder; he answered with what he hoped sounded like a groggy, still-asleep moan.

"I know you're awake, moron. I can feel your heart pounding in your chest."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, expecting anger but finding her expression bemused instead.

"Good morning?" he mumbled into her bosom.

"Idiot," she smirked, "get your face out of my tits before I remove it for you. And by remove, I mean like in that movie Face/Off."

"Digging a little deep for that reference, don't you think? That movie's more than ten years old. Besides, you would look really weird with my face," he retorted as he pulled back. "And the word tits makes them sound so small. They're really more like jugs, I'd say. Or melons." He gestured with his hands descriptively. This earned him the playful smack he'd been aiming for.

"Contemplate my breasts often, Pervis? You seem like you have this all thought out."

"It's been known to cross my mind from time to time," he replied, heaving a long-suffering sigh.

"You have no shame, you know that?" Mary grumbled as she stalked off to the bathroom.

"Like a lioness retreating to her cave," Marshall muttered to himself as the shower came on. He shook his head slightly to clear the clutter of thoughts that had collected in his head, thoughts she would forgive now but wouldn't tolerate once she came out again. Unfortunately, it only cleared the way for other thoughts of a less busty nature, and he felt melancholy descend upon him once more.

Mary stood in the shower, motionless, taking a few minutes to let the hot water beat down on her back while she thought over the events of the previous day. After their late afternoon arrival, realizing neither Marshall nor his mother had eaten and feeling a bit hungry herself, Mary had taken it upon herself to make grilled cheese sandwiches. She generally didn't cook, but she was tired of feeling useless, and the simple dinner seemed to have been appreciated. Still, she was worried that she was overstepping boundaries just by being here. This was a time for family, and she wasn't. She had no desire to intrude where she wasn't wanted, and she certainly didn't want to make this time harder for Marshall's family. But then, there was Marshall. She was certain he needed her. But did he, really? He had his mother, and more of his family would be arriving soon. Maybe it was only her ego that made Mary think he needed her to be here. Mary huffed in frustration and began lathering her hair with shampoo.

The smell of something delicious and waffley hit her nose as soon as she emerged from the bathroom. Getting dressed quickly, she went to investigate. She found Marshall, still sporting his rocket ship pajamas, operating a waffle iron one-handed. His other hand, the one that had punched the car door, was sporting a bruise that Mary was certain qualified as hideous. It appeared to be a little swollen, too, but she thought there would have been more swelling if he had broken it. She pursed her lips.

"Marshall, you're getting that looked at today."

"Getting what looked at?" he asked, deliberately not meeting her eyes.

"That hand. I doubt it's broken but it could have a hairline fracture or something. And there's no way you can fire a gun with it. You need to get it checked out so you can find out if there's anything seriously wrong with it, and how long it'll keep you off the job."

"It's fine," he answered with a dismissive, nervous laugh, glancing at her to see if she was buying it. She wasn't. "You worry too much, Mare."

"No, I don't!" She crossed her arms, gearing up for battle. "I worry just enough. I'm your partner and it's my job to worry about these things. Besides, if the situation were reversed and I was the one with an injury, you'd be all over my ass to get it looked at by a doctor."

"And you'd refuse, and say you were fine."

"Yeah, well, I'd be wrong."

He glanced at her again. "Can I use that against you next time you get hurt?"

"Only if you get that hand checked out. Today."

"Fine," he sighed in resignation. "Waffle?"

"Hell yes."

* * *

Marshall heard Mary sigh as they returned to his mother's house. A glance in her direction found her looking anxious. He knew the last couple days had been hard for her. She had done her best to shoulder his burdens as much as she could, and he couldn't imagine that it was easy for her to be in this situation, trying to find her place within his family while emotions were running so high. Emotional people frightened her, an instinct born of a childhood fraught with instability. He knew his mother wasn't likely to lose control and lash out at Mary, but Mary didn't know that. It would only get worse for her with the arrival of his brothers and their assorted wives and children. They were waiting at the house now, and Mary's tension was spiking. He could tell she was going to great lengths to hide it from him, and it made him feel a pang in his heart that he wasn't ready to name.

His hand had checked out well enough. It was sprained and bruised, and he had been advised to ice it and keep it bandaged until it healed. Mary had watched with hawk-like attention while the doctor had showed them how to wrap it. As a reward for getting the hand examined and not turning out to be particularly damaged, Mary had let him drive home, with a payload of groceries in the back that his mother had asked them to pick up for her. Mary had seemed relieved at the time. Being given a task to perform had made her feel less awkward, more useful. She had gone off on her own for a short while, and had returned with a bag from a clothing store. Marshall figured she had bought a dress for the upcoming service, but she hadn't said anything about it, most likely not wanting to remind him of his father's death if she didn't have to. Marshall tightened his one-handed grip on the wheel.

He had been avoiding thinking about his father as much as possible, choosing instead to immerse himself in the moment. Like that morning, faced with Mary's incredible assets. Seeing the doctor about his hand and going grocery shopping had also been welcome distractions. He knew he shouldn't be avoiding it, suspected he was slipping into denial, but he couldn't quite bring himself to deny the moments of blissfully ignorant normalcy the course of the day had brought forth. It felt incongruous to be amused by their encounter this morning, to be relaxed while they'd been shopping for groceries, but it seemed preferable to uninterrupted emotional torment. Presently, he felt that shepherding Mary through the maelstrom of his collected family would provide another welcome distraction, one he felt in desperate need of. Besides, looking after her had a feeling of chivalrous nobility about it that he found more than a little appealing.

They pulled up to the house, and Mary reached over and put the SUV into park. It was the little things, Marshall thought, that really cemented their partnership. Mary could be a headache sometimes, and was widely known in the Marshal's Service as well as other agencies in Albuquerque as being something of a bitch. Marshall knew better. Mary was a complicated woman who put up a mean front to scare people off. _Much like the way a cat will puff up to intimidate rivals and predators, appearing to as much as double in size._ Marshall smiled at the thought; his Mary was no mere housecat. But for all her bluster and intimidation, she was a person who would do little things like this, because it was needed, or sometimes just because it was helpful. That was the crux of the matter: she didn't perform small acts of kindness as society expected. She performed small acts of helpfulness when a situation called for them. As a result, most people never saw the caring, nurturing side of her personality. Marshall sometimes liked to think of it as a treasure that was his and his alone, although at other times he wished more people understood so they wouldn't malign her.

Marshall escorted her inside, knowing this was the one time she would need to lean on him, and finding that for now, he had the strength for it. He swept her through introductions, guiding her from one relative to the next, stayed by her side through dinner, never once letting her be made to feel out of place and enjoying feeling like she was somehow his. She was. She was his partner, his friend, and part of him felt she was something more than that to him. He had reveled, quietly and secretly, in the opportunity to present her to his family, even though the circumstances were the worst imaginable. Even though he and Mary were not, in fact, what he felt they could be. Afterward, he did what he knew she would appreciate most: he excused them both, and took her outside.

The sun was setting, bathing the landscape in soothing tones of orange and gold. Mary surveyed her surroundings. The house itself was large enough to be considered sprawling, but behind it stretched acres of land. Mary came to the realization that Marshall's parents' estate had at one time been a fully functional ranch. A barn sat on the property, and a skeletal metal windmill stood silhouetted by the sun in the west. For Mary, the idea of a childhood in such an idyllic setting was completely foreign. The giant house, the untold acres of land, it was a paradise of the great wide-open, and Mary would bet her back teeth that they had at one time owned horses, if they didn't still. That barn looked like it could hold a lot of horse.

"Jesus, Marshall, I can't believe you really grew up here," Mary murmured as a cool evening breeze brought relief from the heat of the day.

"Well, I did… but I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't."

"Smartass."

"Better a smartass than a dumbass."

"And you would know this, how?"

He laughed his patented, fake-sounding, oh-you're-so-funny laugh. Mary was relieved to hear it. She reached for his hand, taking it in her own.

"Shouldn't you be inside, with your family?"

"There'll be time for that. They're all getting settled in, anyway. Besides, they stress me out, too, you know."

"They do?" she looked at him incredulously.

"You know, Mary Shannon, just because you have the most aggravating family ever doesn't mean you have the market cornered," he teased her, his tone light. She socked him gently on the arm. He turned back to the horizon, rimmed in the orange glow of the fading day.

"If I'm being honest, being around them all at once makes me feel crowded. I came out here to take some time, you know? Just… breathe, for a while." _With you, _he added silently.

Mary looked up at him, understanding perfectly what he meant, and slipped her arm around his waist. He draped an arm around her shoulders, and together, they watched the setting sun until it was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: In Plain Sight - I don't own it, I just play with it!**

**Author's Note: Thank you all again for your wonderful reviews! Just keep writing 'em if you want to spur me on! Also, sorry to have to do this, but Marshall's grace period of denial is about to come to an end. It's going to get a bit rocky for a while. Hang in there, Marshall!**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 6**

The morning of the funeral dawned before Marshall was ready. He had coasted through the last few days and, on a level he couldn't quite reach consciously, he knew it couldn't last. The days were punctuated by intense jolts of emotion from which his heart and mind immediately fled. The nights were a complete blank to him, though he suspected he couldn't avoid his feelings in his dreams… but he could forget them. Every morning when he'd woken up, his mind had been devoid of memory, a merciful lack of dream material to have to analyze, but he had woken up clinging fiercely to Mary, which was telling in itself. He wondered how long she would continue to allow his nocturnal consummation of grief before he woke up missing limbs. That didn't seem to be a concern this morning, though, because Mary wasn't there.

Marshall sat up and looked around the room. His suit was laid out for him, undoubtedly by Mary, draped over a chair in the corner. At the sight of it, he tasted bile. He was suddenly relieved all they had managed to bring was the suit he used for court and not one he used for special occasions of a more personal nature, the one he probably would have chosen had he been thinking clearly at the time. He liked that suit, and he knew he would never be wearing this one again, after today. A wave of unchecked sorrow hit him and he felt bile rising again. He bolted for the bathroom and made it only just in time.

Mary returned to the guest room with a plate of toast. It was all she had managed to snag around the mob of hungry people in the kitchen, but she figured Marshall wouldn't have much of an appetite anyway. When she arrived in time to hear retching from the bathroom, she knew she had made the right choice. She sat on the bed, waiting for him to finish, knowing that to try to comfort him now would only embarrass him.

When Marshall emerged at last, he was surprised and slightly dismayed to see Mary waiting for him.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, wondering how much she had heard.

"I just got here. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to get around your family for this toast."

Marshall noted her forced-casual tone, the way her eyes wouldn't quite meet his, and that way too casual shrug of the shoulder, tells with which he had a more than passing familiarity. He knew she'd heard him, but he appreciated the lie, and he let it ride. He accepted the toast, and took a tentative nibble.

"I showered already, so it's yours," Mary offered. "I wanted to eat before I got dressed so I just threw my jammies back on."

He nodded as he continued picking at his toast. It was better than he thought it would be. He hadn't thought he'd want to bother eating this morning, but with some food in him, he was starting to feel better.

After Marshall had showered and completed the complicated grooming routine that Mary had often claimed made him more of a woman than she would ever be, he slipped into the bedroom to retrieve his suit. There he found Mary, wearing the black dress he had presumed she had bought shortly after their arrival. It was more feminine than anything she would usually wear, but he supposed she bought the first appropriate thing she could find, intending to never wear it again. It looked good on her, though… very good. She was almost completely ready to go, except the back zipper wasn't zipped all the way, and the dress gaped open a bit to reveal an expanse of creamy skin and the back of a black bra. _As if anyone could be more of a woman than Mary. _Marshall eved her curves as he found himself wishing, despite the solemnity of the event for which they were preparing, for better coverage than the pajama bottoms he'd put back on had to offer. _I knew going commando was a bad idea…_

Mary looked up, realizing he was there. "Hey, Marshall, you got a minute?"

"Yeah, Mare, what do you need?" he asked, snapping out of his reverie.

"Can you zip me?"

_Oh God! Really? _Marshall tried to banish the flutter of nervous excitement that he felt zing through him. _Get it together. It's a zipper. Who gets excited over a zipper? A zipper's just about the least exciting thing ever invented, although the zipper was actually developed over time from a series of zipper-like progenitors by a number of inventors. Zippers are even a bit threatening, really… _

But of course, it wasn't the zipper. It was the woman underneath.

"Look, Prudence, if your Victorian sensibilities don't allow for zipping a woman's dress I can get someone else to do it." Her lips pursed, and she put her hand on her hip. Her posture, suggestive of the possibility of an ass-beating, didn't do much to help Marshall's situation. He liked her when she was feisty.

_Better just get it over with, if I hesitate more she might realize that isn't exactly a joke. _Marshall slipped behind her, both of them facing the dresser mirror she'd been using to get ready. He reached for her zipper, fingers questing gently over her back, completely unnecessary because the zipper pull was _right freakin' there, _but he couldn't help himself. He gripped the tab, sliding it upward.

A flash of memory came to him; he remembered his parents getting ready to attend a wedding. He'd been a small child at the time. His mother had asked his father to zip her, which he did, and Marshall had thought they looked so happy, which had made him happy in turn, because as a child he had depended on their happiness, their bond with each other and with him. He had depended on it as an adult, as well. And then it hit him: he had never really considered them as separate entities. His perception of his parents had always been as a matched pair, not quite a single being but neither completely autonomous. As an adult he had long ago accepted the likelihood that his parents would predecease him, unless he died on the job or possibly in one of the many numerous accidents statistically more likely to happen in his own home than anywhere else, but it had been an intellectual acceptance. He had never understood how it would feel, could not possibly have guessed, until this moment… the moment he realized his parents were now a broken pair that would never be made whole again.

It occurred to him that it was possible he might never get married. He never really knew why he hadn't, before Mary came into the picture and made all other women look boring by comparison, but now he wondered if it wasn't because on some level he knew it was inevitable that he would either leave someone behind, or be left behind himself. _But isn't it that way already? _His eyes met Mary's in the mirror and he knew, beyond all doubt, that if she was ever taken from him, no one else would ever fit. He would become the remaining half of a broken set.

The thought terrified him, adding to the tangle of emotions his mind was trying frantically to sort out. Arousal for Mary. Grief for his father. Empathy for his mother. Love for all three, but skewed in radically differing directions for each as a result of the other feelings overwhelming him, and consequently, confusion. Strewn throughout, fear, for himself; abject terror at the realization that he could choose only between the possibility of ultimately being left behind or the certainty of a life lived alone.

Mary watched as tears began to fall from her partner's blue eyes, but before she could act, his arm slid around her waist and pulled her against him. His other arm wrapped around her upper arms and chest, his body pressed to her back, his face dropped to her shoulder, and he shook as he cried against her. She laid a hand on each of the arms around her, affirming their right to be there, not allowing the possibility that he might pull back, and let him cry. It was all she could do for him.

* * *

The funeral was standing room only. Mary took in a sea of sad faces, and thought to herself that Mann, Sr. had been a really popular guy. She wondered if it would be like this if it were Marshall. She scoffed to herself as she realized it would probably be even more crowded. There would be friends from the Marshal Service, friends from college, friends from any number of his varied intellectual pursuits. There would be ex-girlfriends, old college girlfriends… maybe even some from high school.

_Hell, _Mary thought with a faint smirk, _I bet even some elementary school classmates would turn up._

Marshall was just that kind of person, a man who inspired friendship. A man much like his father, apparently. The kind of person Mary could never be. _Not that I'd want to be that kind of person. _The bitterness of the lie erased even a trace of her previous half-smile.

Marshall's mother made her way to the front pew, the family herd in tow, and as Marshall made to follow them, Mary began looking for a place to stand at the back. Marshall turned and caught her wrist.

"You don't have to wait back here. You can sit up front with me."

"Marshall, I'm not family. I don't want to be rude." Mary glanced away from him, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place.

"Mare," Marshall tugged her wrist insistently, "I already asked my mom. There's room for you."

Mary felt a flutter of an emotion she couldn't name. She flushed slightly. It felt good to be included, a feeling she hadn't anticipated. She nodded and followed after him, his hand still gripping her wrist. She might have expected him to take her hand in his, but after he had broken down while they were getting dressed that morning, Marshall had become emotionally withdrawn. Where before he had seemed willing to distract himself with more pleasant emotions, joking with her, even seeming relaxed at times, he now appeared completely blank. Mary knew he was trying to steel himself against the deep emotions his father's service would undoubtedly stir, but she didn't understand how he expected that to actually work. It seemed to Mary as though Marshall was now grasping at straws in an effort to maintain his denial. She had seen denial in all its shapes and sizes when dealing with her witnesses, and she knew that if Marshall didn't open himself up to acceptance, sooner or later something would have to give. _And I'll just have to be there when it does, and pick up the slack until then._

After they were settled in the family pew, the service commenced. A clergyman waxed on the passage from one life into the next, and said all sorts of things intended to be comforting. Mary found his words trite, and wondered how people could accept such hollow platitudes. Looking around her, she saw some comfort on the faces of Marshall's family members - _Well at least all this preaching is good for something _- but Marshall's face had taken on an odd cast. _He isn't buying it_, Mary realized.

Marshall sat perfectly still, apparently determined to remain as blank and composed as possible. He seemed completely divorced from the proceedings. Mary frowned slightly; that didn't seem right. Marshall wasn't usually this closed off. _Was he? _The thought of him being able to hold so much back made her uncomfortable. If he could hide his feelings here, at his father's funeral of all places, what else might he be holding back from her, possibly every day? _Get over it, Mary, this is about Marshall, not you! _But his behavior was still deeply disconcerting, and it worried her.

The priest or reverend or whatever he was - Mary hadn't been paying attention to that part - wrapped up his funereal prattle. It was time for eulogies to be given. Marshall's brothers each got up to say a piece, remembrances of their father peppered with loving and occasionally humorous anecdotes, during which Mary noticed a tightening in Marshall's jaw. Then it was Marshall's turn.

Marshall slipped from the pew and took the podium. It was almost over; all he had to do was impart to the congregation the eulogy he had so carefully crafted in his mind. He had silently rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over, and now all he had to do was verbalize it. Then he could zone out for the rest of the service, and go back to the ranch, and everything would be fine.

He began to speak, and Mary saw the wall he'd been putting up since this morning crumble before her eyes.

"My father was… he was…" Marshall faltered, and his voice trailed off with a pained squeak. His eyes sought out Mary, and she read the alarm in his face. Paying no heed to decorum, Mary went immediately to his side.

"What is it, Marshall?" she asked softly, her worried hands latching onto his arm. "Tell me what you need."

"I had it all right in my mind, everything I wanted to say, and… it's just gone," he murmured in distress. "I don't have the words anymore."

Mary's eyes widened in comprehension. Marshall was on the edge of panic, tongue-tied in front of a few hundred family members and friends of his father and unable to say any of the kind things he so desperately wanted to say about the man who had given him life, who had raised him, things he would forever regret not being able to say. Mary saw that he was on the brink of tears, about to succumb to his desperation and grief. She pursed her lips and did the only thing she could think of. She gently pulled him away from the podium, and took his place.

"Um, hi. Most of you don't know me. My name is Mary. I'm Marshall's partner."

There was a faint murmur of confusion amid the gathered mourners.

"Marshall has something he wants to say, but he can't. So I'm going to say it for him. That's what partners do."

Marshall gaped at her. Mary hated speaking in public. He couldn't believe she was doing this… but he needed her to. He made no move to stop her, so Mary continued.

"I thought I would never understand the love of a parent. My own father was… absent… from my life from a very young age, and my mother was… not particularly capable of the sentiment. I spent a large part of my life craving that love and seeking it in all the wrong places, and later I started pretending a parent's love wasn't important, like sour grapes, and all that. I would mock those who were close to their parents out of my own jealousy and shame. I had myself completely fooled, at least I thought I did. But now…"

Mary hesitated, her grip white-knuckled on the podium. Marshall laid his hand on her forearm and nodded encouragingly. His attention was completely on her, she realized, even as he struggled to keep his tears from falling. She saw that he trusted her not to make a complete ass of herself, and by association, him. Mary smiled slightly, so small he was probably the only one who could see it, before turning back to the waiting audience, fortified by his faith in her.

"Now, I understand what a parent's love is. I understand what it means, how it shapes a person's life. The man standing next to me, my partner, is a person of almost limitless kindness. He cares about other people, both people whom he knows and people who are strangers to him. His heart is open, and willing to accept other people for who they are. He is able to care for other people, even when they are less than deserving of it. He is a kind, loving person, and he is the way he is because of the love and kindness he has been shown by others, by the parents who raised him."

Mary looked around and saw that the mourners were once more in tears. She didn't want to hijack Marshall's father's funeral, and not having been a scheduled speaker, she hadn't been briefed on any kind of timetable that might have been in play, so she decided it was time to close.

"I never got to meet Marshall's father, but I know that he was a kind and good man, because I know his son better than I know almost anyone. Marshall wouldn't be the man he is today if he didn't come from such loving parents. Thank you for letting me get this out there. I hope it was okay."

And with that, Mary released her death grip on the podium and stepped down, only to be pulled into Marshall's firm embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear as he hugged her tightly. His voice trembled as he finally allowed his own tears to fall. The eulogy had not been spoken by him, but the words had come from his and Mary's unified heart. He could live with that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS, but I love it anyway.**

**Author's Note: A brief warning - the f-word makes a few appearances but we'll soon be in for a rating change anyway, and for those who were hoping it was time for tea and cookies, the drama is just getting started... you may want to fasten your seat belts. =)**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 7**

Mary sat on the porch watching the torrential downpour. During the funeral, a heavy cloudbank had begun rolling in, and by mid-afternoon, the skies split open and with a low rumble of thunder, the rain came. It had been raining for hours; the ground was now mostly mud. It was even possible the road to the ranch would be washed out by daybreak. It was now either very late in the night or very early in the morning, depending how one looked at it. Mary kept her vigil, waiting for Marshall.

After the funeral, when they had returned home, one of Marshall's brothers had produced a case of beer and two fifths of bourbon, and suggested they all go out to the barn and "get hammered like old times." Mary hadn't thought it was the best idea, but it was clearly part of some established protocol between Marshall and his siblings, and she had decided not to interfere for the time being. Wary of the situation, though, Mary had thought it best to keep watch from a distance for any trouble, and here she was.

Mary was worried. Marshall was vulnerable right now, she knew; the service today had broken down emotional walls that he had built up over the last few days. He had been stable enough to get by when he was with her, but only barely so, and she had a bad feeling about the effect liquor and siblings might have on him. She had the impression he found his brothers to be tiring, and she had on several occasions seen Marshall toe the line between alcohol consumption and alcohol abuse, including one time at work. The setting of that particular incident had crossed a line as far as she was concerned. The workplace was not the place to get his drunk on to that degree. But she could hardly bring herself to be angry at him; how could she, when she forgave her own family members greater transgressions even though she liked them less than she liked Marshall? That, and she was pretty sure it was at least partially her fault. He'd been in a mood over her now failed engagement, and she had no doubt that he had chosen the location as well as used her own personal stash so that she would be absolutely certain to see him in that state. Granted, the choice of where, why, and what to drink were his, as was how much, but she had supplied the provocation, and for that, she had been angry at herself.

Now she was angry at his stupid brothers, for roping him into this, but again, the decision was his to make. She folded her arms across her chest, sighing in dissatisfaction. She wished she'd had the courage to tell him not to do it, but she hadn't wanted to alienate him from her when he'd been leaning on her so much. She didn't want to take away his major source of support. She had thought about joining them, if only to be able to keep a closer eye on things, but it had seemed to be a private party, and she wouldn't be of help to anybody if she was wasted too. She felt like she wanted to get drunk, a little, because watching Marshall fall to pieces over and over again was taking its toll on her as well, but she wouldn't do it. Not while he still needed her.

From the barn, there came the sound of breaking glass, barely audible beneath the pounding of the rain, then a muffled shout. Mary was instantly on alert. Another shout, louder and more clear.

"Screw you, asshole!" Not Marshall's voice. Things were taking a turn for the worse, as Mary had suspected they might.

As she was debating whether it was time to intervene, a figure was shoved out of the barn into the rain. The way it kept balance even when reeling from the push and stumbling drunk told her it was Marshall. For being such a beanpole, the man was hard to take down. The second try did it though; a second, more bulky form lurched out after him and caught him round the middle in a classic football tackle. Both went down with an angry cry and a splatter of mud. Mary was on her feet now, braving the rain even as she saw Marshall deftly flip the man on top of him. Even though he was drunk, he was trained to fight in a way Mary guessed his brothers were likely not. Inebriated, he would lose more control than skill, and he was definitely capable of doing serious injury. The last thing he needed was to cause damage he would later regret.

Before Mary could reach the embattled pair, the other brother entered the fray. Marshall had punched the one on the ground a couple of times in the course of their struggle, and finally stood up. Seeing that Marshall had the upper hand and might not be inclined to stop, the second brother tried to grab Marshall from behind to pull him off, or so Mary believed if she was giving the man the benefit of the doubt. Possibly he was just also really drunk and pissed off, and wanted to join the fray. Whatever his intent, he didn't get the chance to follow through. Mary saw Marshall shift, grabbing his brother's arm, and the sudden redistribution of weight sent him sailing over Marshall's shoulder. Mary cringed. It had been a perfect throw, and Marshall's brother would have a hell of a bruise from the landing. The first brother started to get up as Mary reached them.

"Stay on the ground!" she bellowed in her most authoritative voice. Marshall was in fight mode now, and with alcohol in him, he would probably keep going until they stopped getting up for more, one way or another. Though drunk, they responded to the authority in her voice, and likely to the insistence of the bruises Marshall had given them as well.

Mary could see that Marshall was still amped from the fight, and knew better than to initiate physical contact without warning.

"Marshall!" she called to him. Though he seemed to register her presence, he wasn't backing down. There was still some fight left in him. Mary needed to resolve this before one of his brothers did something stupid, like jumping back into the fray, or making a sudden move… or even a slow, lumbering one. Her addition to the equation added a new wrinkle; if someone made a threatening move toward her, considering the state Marshall was in, he might respond with terminal force without being particularly concerned about who that person was.

"Inspector Mann, stand down!" Mary ordered.

The use of his official title coupled with a command he was trained to follow got through to him. He blinked, stepped back from the fight, and turned to her.

"Hey, Mare… why are you all wet?"

Mary saw his brothers get up slowly, circling wide around him, and return to the shelter of the barn. Mary guessed the appeal of drinking in the barn was that they could drink it up and then sleep it off in the same convenient place, away from their mother's watchful eye. She wondered how early on this tradition had gotten started.

"Look who's talking, Doofus. I think you ruined your suit."

Marshall looked down and brushed some of the mud off, but it was hopeless. There was just too much.

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled drunkenly. "I wasn't going to wear it again anyway."

"Come on, let's get you inside," she said, tugging on his arm. He stumbled and leaned on her as part of an intermittent weaving pattern, if the term pattern could even be applied. Mary was amazed by and secretly proud of the fact that he could fight so well when he was almost too drunk to walk. She didn't miss the tension in his frame that told her the adrenaline from the fight still held some sway.

Once on the porch, Mary abandoned her shoes while Marshall tugged off his boots, both of which Mary resolved to check for scorpions before putting back on the next day, and she helped him strip out of his suit as well. It was done for, and there was no point in getting mud everywhere. She led Marshall inside wearing just his undershirt and boxer shorts.

In the guest room, Mary quickly changed into a tank top and pajama shorts behind his back and discarded her soaked clothes in the bathroom. She sat next to Marshall on the bed, toweling his wet hair dry. She couldn't help but think it looked rather sexy, unstyled and wet, strands bunched together in short arcs of hair hanging over his forehead like the antennae of a cartoon insect. Maybe that bit was more cute than sexy, some kind of strange sexy-cute, but Marshall was definitely giving off an attractive vibe at the moment. _Yeah, because he so needs me to go there. More important things right now, Mary, more important things!_

"So… what was that fight about?" Mary inquired, now wringing moisture from her own hair with the towel.

Marshall grimaced. "One of them wanted to know if you were 'more than just my partner.'"

Mary froze. "Why would he even care?" Mary tried to sound casual but fell somewhat short, wondering if she had somehow made a bad impression at some point. Marshall was too busy climbing up on his soapbox to notice.

"He wanted to know if I was 'fucking' you. Said if I wasn't going to, he'd be willing," Marshall growled. "Can you believe that, Mare?"

Mary was speechless. She didn't think she had ever seen him so irritated by such an inconsequential comment. It wasn't exactly a harmless remark, but it certainly fell within the normal range of stupid things uttered by drunk people. Marshall continued his inebriated rant, her loss for words going unnoticed.

"Like I'd really just let him. Like I'd just let any guy fuck you. Doesn't even matter that he's my brother, it's just not gonna happen. No way in hell."

"And he jumped you because you told him that?" Mary asked, trying to figure out exactly where this had turned into a brawl.

"Not exactly. I threw a bottle at him."

"And that's why he jumped you?"

"Yep."

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Mary was incredulous.

"With the loss of a parent, siblings often revert back to childhood rivalries…" Marshall trailed off.

"Marshall… are you alright?" Mary laid a hand on his back.

"I just miss him so much," Marshall whispered, biting back tears.

Mary wasn't sure what she could do for him. He'd For the second time that day, she echoed the sentiment that was usually his to offer. "Tell me what you need."

Marshall sat for a moment, thinking. He pulled back from her slightly and looked into her eyes, considering how far her offer might be meant to extend. In a sober moment he might have dismissed the idea, but now… he was drunk and he was tired, he'd been overwrought with grief for his father and stressed by the ridiculous antics of his brothers… he felt like a wind-up toy whose key had been turned one time too many; overused and close to breaking. He didn't want to hold back anymore. He wasn't even sure if he could.

Marshall cupped Mary's cheek, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb before sliding his hand to her neck, just below her ear. Before she could register what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His lips were soft, but the pressure behind them was firm and insistent. After a few heartbeats, he pulled back, and once again met her gaze.

"Marshall…" Mary whispered. She had no idea how to handle this. "This is probably a very bad idea… you're drunk and your dad's funeral was today, and you can't possibly be thinking straight." _And this might change everything between us._

"Mary, you've been here for me this whole time. You've been helping me get through one of the worst times in my life, and I could never have done this without you… but…" Marshall's voice trembled and fell to a whisper, "Please, Mary. You asked me what I needed, and I'm telling you. I need this. I need you... all of you."

Mary chewed her lip in confusion. The desire for the physical act wasn't a problem; Mary found Marshall appealing on a number of levels. Had it not been for her fear of straining their partnership, and later, their friendship, she might have tried to jump him years ago. It was obvious now, though, that he'd had deeper feelings for her than she had allowed herself to believe. She knew he loved her as a friend, and she might even have known he appreciated her as a woman, but she had not let herself consider more than that because she worried that no matter how much love she offered him, it might not be enough. She loved deeply, on the rare occasions that she truly loved, but she was not openly expressive of her feelings at all and she probably never would be.

All that aside, she wasn't even completely sure what was happening right now. What was it he was asking for? The immediate act he had in mind was obvious, but what then? Did he want a relationship? Commitment? The long haul? Or was he asking for a one time thing, something to help him through the moment? Mary didn't know where to begin to ask. And then, she had a moment of clarity. _Tell me what you need. _It was the code they lived by. It meant no questions asked. _I'll always take care of you. Tell me what you need. Anything you ask of me, I'll give. _Mary trusted Marshall, and Marshall trusted her in return; of that, she was absolutely certain. Whatever came of this, it would be okay; even if things changed, it didn't have to be bad, because it was Marshall. At that moment, there was only one question she needed answered.

"Why did you throw that bottle?"

"Because..." Marshall thought about it for a moment before he answered. "Because you're my girl."

"Okay, Marshall," Mary accepted, pulling him to her as she reached over and clicked off the light.

* * *

**Dear Readers, forgive Mary for what she does. She's doing the best she can, and nobody's perfect! Next time on Unintended Consequences: New and Improved M Rating.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just spice it up.**

**Author's Note: I saw someone comment on the IPS Facebook page that they shipped Marshall and Jinx. I couldn't help thinking, MILF Inspector Marshall Mann? Great title for a fic about that pairing though: The MILF Mann! I won't be writing it, that's for sure… not that Jinx is exactly MILF material, either… I think I'd have needed the rating change to cover this author's note alone…**

**Anyway, avert your eyes, children! There be a pairing of a more palatable nature in these here waters. Now rated M, and in case I haven't been obvious enough, that's for sex.

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**Unintended Consequences **

**Chapter 8**

The rumble of thunder split the night. Marshall's lips again found Mary's in the darkness. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the pair as his mouth quested hungrily over her naked form, their meager clothing having already been shed in the span of a few heartbeats. He kissed, sucked, and nipped at tender, supple flesh, eliciting moans of pleasure from his partner. Mary could feel the length of him pressed against her thigh, pulsing in time with the swift pounding of his heart. He was rock hard, aching for her in his need.

Marshall was aggressive in his conquest of her body. He channeled every ounce of his grief and frustration into his actions, striving to find an emotional release for which he was desperate. His teeth closed on her nipple and she gasped from the heady blend of pain and pleasure that coursed through her as he caressed her with his tongue. He shifted, fisting his hand in her hair, pulling her head back as he turned his attentions to her neck.

As Marshall's efforts grew more frenzied, Mary shifted her position beneath him so that he was pressed against her opening. Marshall gave a breathy moan at the wetness he found there. His eyes sought hers as he breathed heavily, worked into a feverish lust by his exploration of her. Mary knew how badly he needed her, and she was filled with a desperate want of her own.

"Take what you need," she whispered.

Strong arms held her, pinned, as he plunged into her with a groan. She moaned her pleasure as he filled her to her furthest depths, and there he stayed for a moment, throbbing within her and gasping ragged breaths as he tried not to come from the sensation.

Soon, having recovered some stamina, he began pounding into her with powerful thrusts. Mary was in rapture, her physical peak drawing closer as she was roughly filled with his turgid passion. As she reached the precipice of her release, he clutched her to him tightly, surging into her with a savage cry. Mary cried out his name as waves of orgasm overtook her, contracting around him as he pulsed his own climax within her depths. He collapsed upon her for a moment, gasping as he came down from his release.

Marshall rolled over and lay on his back, catching his breath at last. He had never been that rough with a woman, that raw. Even with the ones who had liked it that way, he had always felt as if he was faking it. This was different; he'd had so much raw angst within him, needing an outlet, and he was drunk enough that his inhibitions were nearly nonexistent. He was attempting to sort out how he felt about that when Mary offered him his boxers and shirt.

"I thought maybe… what if your mom comes in tomorrow morning or something? Sorry, I couldn't find anything else," she murmured. She clicked the light switch a few times and Marshall saw that the power had been knocked out by the storm. He nodded agreement and put the underclothes on while she slipped back into her sleepwear.

He fell back on the bed, beginning to be concerned that she felt awkward about what they'd just done. _Maybe I was too rough. Maybe she's regretting it. _Then, in one fluid motion, she slid back into bed with him and nestled against him, draping her arm over his midsection. He knew Mary didn't like to cuddle after sex, if only because she had told him as much on numerous, gut-wrenching occasions the day after a one night stand had gotten clingy. She would only do this because she wanted to, he realized, and the tightness in his chest eased. He wrapped an arm around her in return, feeling completely at peace for the first time in days, and it was not long before sleep claimed him.

* * *

The bright light of the morning sun bore into Marshall's skull. He groaned, lifting a heavy limb to shield his face from the sun's cheery and unwanted penetration. His mouth and throat felt cotton-stuffed and bone-dry; his eyes felt sandpaper eyelids rasping against them. He felt sweaty and sick, and he ached everywhere. He slitted his sun-shielded eyes and saw he was wearing his boxers and undershirt instead of his usual pajamas, undergarments that appeared to be somewhat dirty in addition to being sweat-drenched.

"Hey," a gentle voice whispered softly. He risked a glance and saw Mary lying next to him. He moaned in pain; even her soft voice was enough to make him realize he was sporting an enormous headache on top of everything else.

"I feel like I got hit by a truck," he mumbled, pressing his palms to his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain from his headache as well as a sensation of nausea creeping up on him. "What happened last night?"

Mary's gentle smile faltered slightly, though Marshall couldn't see it. "Um… what do you remember happening?"

"I remember the funeral, I remember the drive home…" Marshall whimpered softly as he recalled the likely cause of his misery. "I remember my brothers saying we should go drink it off in the barn afterward."

Mary's heart sank. She had gone with it last night, driven by her faith in him, but if he couldn't remember any of it… She tried a different tactic.

"You don't remember beating the crap out of both your brothers in the rain last night?"

Marshall's eyes flew open in surprise, and he winced as he closed them against the brightness of the day.

"No… but that would certainly serve to explain a great deal. Like why I feel completely abused in parts I didn't even know I had."

Mary felt a pang in her heart, a razor edge of panic circling her consciousness. He didn't remember what they'd done. Mary wanted to believe he'd be okay with it, but… _He was drunk, and I wasn't. He was grieving, and I wasn't. He had absolutely no good judgment to draw from, and I did. _She knew she should have realized that fact from the way Marshall had thrown down on his brothers; his moves had been largely defensive, but that much violence was still far beyond his usual character.

"Well, you were really, really drunk last night. I had to help you out of your clothes on the porch because you got all covered in mud…" Mary's voice quavered with uncertainty… _Where do I go from here?_

Marshall registered the tremor in her speech, and wrongly interpreted it as anger. He knew she'd spent a lifetime picking up the mess left in the wake of her alcoholic mother, but that didn't make him Jinx. _It's not like I have that much of a problem… is it? _The thought bounced around his mind uncomfortably, refusing to go away. He knew he'd been resorting more and more frequently to the bottle when confronted with distress, but yesterday… His father was dead and buried. That made last night a special circumstance. _Didn't it?_ His headache was getting worse, and the pain coupled with a growing feeling of sickness in his stomach made him surly.

"You know, Mary, I really don't need you to judge me right now," he lashed out at her.

"What?" Mary exclaimed, incredulous. "I wasn't trying to… to judge you… I was just…" Marshall cut her off.

"Look. I'm deeply sorry for whatever drunken shenanigans I made you deal with last night," he bit out his retort, his tone not particularly suggestive of contrition, "but I buried my dad yesterday. I don't need this from you. I'm not Jinx, or whatever other drunk family member you're thinking about. So just leave it alone. Leave me alone, Mary."

Mary bit back tears. That was it, then. He didn't remember and he apparently didn't want to. He would blame her, she felt, if he knew what she had done. _But there's no reason he needs to know. He's forgotten everything about last night, and if I just forget too, it'll be like it never happened…_

Marshall saw the hurt on Mary's face, knew bringing up her mother was a low blow. He wanted to apologize, suddenly feeling like there was something important he was missing, some hugely meaningful piece of subtext he had failed to grasp. But that would have to wait; he felt his queasiness rapidly gaining ground.

Mary watched Marshall stumble off to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. She heard a string of retching and gagging sounds that told her he was paying homage to the porcelain deity, and then she heard a disgusted groan and the sound of the shower coming on. She knew, even as her silent tears began to fall, that though he had said some awful things, no doubt partially fueled by the pain of his hangover, it was not Marshall who had damaged their bond of trust. It was she who had broken faith with him; she felt she should have known, in fact actually had known, that allowing him to make love to her was a bad idea under the circumstances. He trusted her to take care of him, to look out for his best interests. _And what did I do? I let him get drunk, and then I slept with him._

She listened to the soothing white noise of the shower, knowing it was Marshall who was in there and wanting to hold on to even that tenuous thread of connection. _How could he ever forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?

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_

Marshall sat in the bathtub, letting cool water beat down on him. He now felt like crap on more levels than just the physical. He knew she must have taken care of him last night when he couldn't take care of himself. He was certain that if he were to look on the porch right now, her muddied shoes would be right next to his cowboy boots, not because he remembered her taking them off but because he knew Mary. When she saw him fighting with his brothers, she would have intervened, even if he was winning. He shuddered to think how far it might have gone otherwise; he could have done them serious injury without meaning to. Like a good partner, she would always have his back, even if the trouble he got into was his fault. _No. Not just a good partner. The best partner. My best friend._ And because she would always have his back, he knew she hadn't been judging him this morning.

He had been judging himself.

He hung his head, face in his hands. He had said awful things to her, cutting remarks that were sure to wound her deeply even though she would avoid letting the hurt show. He had said them not because she deserved them even remotely, _no way in hell did she deserve that, _but because he hadn't been able to handle his own realization that he might, _just might, _have a drinking problem. He knew, deep down, that he had a cruel streak, one he almost never let come into play. He was not a heartless person. He was not an unnecessarily mean person, even. But he was capable of hurling barbs that could do damage, more so than most people were capable, owing to his insightful nature. He had done just that, because his father had died and maybe he was an alcoholic on top of that. And his head had hurt. It still did.

That was the truth, he knew; no matter how vulnerable he had felt, one fact that kept staring him in the face was that he had hurt his beloved partner in a fit of cruelty born of a headache and his own misdirected guilt.

"How can I ever be forgiven?" he whispered, his words drowned out by the pounding water. He knew he needed Mary's absolution, but even if he got it, would that be enough to allow him to forgive himself?

When, a long while later, he finally came out of the bathroom, he found waiting for him on the nightstand a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a small plate of dry toast… but Mary was nowhere to be found.

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**A Parting Note: My thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. To all of my readers, please keep reading after this. Don't be like, "So long, and thanks for all the sex!" ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just write about it!**

**Author's Note: Saw the preview for next week's episode. Looks like I got this story going just in time! Thank you, all my wonderful readers and reviewers! Marshall's still going through the wringer, so give him your love!**

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 9**

Marshall sat on the porch, staring at his muddy boots. He had come out here, of course, looking for Mary, but she had managed to disappear after their altercation that morning. He knew she hadn't gone back to Albuquerque without him; Mary wouldn't do that, at least not without telling him she was going, and the SUV was still where they had last left it. In any case, last night's storm had apparently washed out the road, which his equally hung-over brothers were now clearing at their mother's behest, who had gone with them to oversee the operation. Marshall had escaped having to clear debris and spread gravel by not sleeping it off in the barn with his siblings, where their mother had located and recruited them. Marshall supposed she had let him off the hook because she believed he had been responsible enough to get himself to bed without muddying her house.

He blew out a frustrated breath as he continued to regard the boots where they sat on the porch. He tried to remember the events of the previous night. A few vague flashes ghosted at the edge of Marshall's memory. Pain from a sudden blow coupled with an impact into soft mud, which he assumed to be a part of the fight with his brethren. Hands moving over him; that had to be Mary stripping off the suit that was now resting in a trash can, never to be used again. And something else… a fleeting sensation of panting breath against his neck. His brow furrowed as he tried to hold on to the thread of memory, follow it to some conclusion, but it dissolved away like a strand of spider's silk, and remained ephemeral.

He knew, on an intellectual level, that the memories of the time he'd lost might not come back for a while, if they came back at all. Some might filter to the surface when triggered later, but there came a point where alcohol could inhibit the brain's ability to convert short-term memory to a more lasting form, and if that was the case, memories of the lost time would never completely surface; they simply would not exist at all. Marshall wasn't certain he had gotten drunk enough for that, but he also knew that periods of grief and stress could cause memory gaps as well, and he wasn't completely certain that he hadn't gotten his bell rung fighting with his brothers either. He accepted that he would most likely have to wait and see what happened. The liquor had no doubt only served to compound the issue… _in more ways than one, _Marshall thought, heaving a sigh as his mind wandered back to Mary.

She would be angry at him, he knew, probably for a long time. That he had gotten drunk enough to end up that hung-over, that he could have lashed out at her when, he now realized, she had only been trying to prompt his memory, filled him with shame and guilt. He had uttered remarks that had hit far below the belt, and he was nowhere close to certain that she would allow him to recant his cruelty. He thought it far more likely that she would pretend it didn't matter and then stew on the issue until something else set her off. He hated it when she did that, not because she would fight with him although she could be extremely unpleasant in such circumstances, but because he wanted to be there for her, to be able to set things right before she reached the point of explosion.

The truth of the matter was that such eruptions were more than attempts to make those around her miserable. They were evidence, he knew, proof-positive of the fact that she bottled up her own suffering until she no longer knew what to do with it all. More than anything else about her blow-ups, Marshall hated the fact that they meant he was unable to relieve her suffering, that she had denied him that access to her heart. The really twisted part was, he would fight with her because he was so wounded over having been shut out, but also to provide her that release valve she needed. Then they would both stew for days, a complicated tangle of anger, hurt, and remorse churning in his gut, laced with a sick satisfaction that he was now suffering with her. He knew that for as much as she could get him twisted up in knots, a part of him allowed it and even weirdly liked it, no matter how much it frustrated him.

Marshall heaved himself out of the chair he'd occupied and picked up his mud-caked boots. Next to them, as he had suspected they would be, were her muddy shoes. Unless she had another pair in her go bag, which was certainly possible, she was probably still in the house, lurking somewhere he hadn't checked. He'd looked for her in a few likely places; the kitchen, out back, and then the porch, but if she'd really bothered to hide herself away somewhere unusual, he wanted to give her space to lick her wounds. It wouldn't be a good idea to corner her while the hurt was still so fresh, and it also wouldn't hurt to give his hangover time to fade.

Scooping up her shoes as well, Marshall sat on the porch steps and began picking at the mud, after carefully checking the footwear for unwanted inhabitants.

* * *

Mary was, in fact, holed up in Marshall's father's study. Before the family had set out on their errand to mend the road, she had asked if she could do anything to be of assistance. She had needed to feel like she was doing something, like she wasn't worthless. Going with the family, though, was out of the question; Mary had to stay close in case Marshall needed her. Thus, she found herself sorting through papers so Marshall's mom wouldn't have to. Sort and file, the kind of work she usually hated, but right now it was better than nothing.

She knew Marshall would very likely take back the things he had said, even though he was a firm believer in meaning what you say, if not always saying what you mean. He would know he had crossed a line, and she would accept his apology if offered. She figured the circumstances warranted a get-out-of-jail-free card, and in a rare moment of insight, she realized how she might have felt if she had thought someone was comparing her to Jinx. She wouldn't even have to be hung-over to flip her shit over that. And anyway, his was the lesser sin, she felt; he had snapped and the things he'd said had stung… _but I'm the one who betrayed his trust, the one who took advantage… the one keeping secrets. _

Mary shook her head. She just couldn't tell him. If he remembered, then they could have it out. They'd fight but they'd be okay, maybe, because that was usually how things worked out. But if he didn't remember, she couldn't bear telling him, and in doing so, earning his wrath for an act he likely hadn't really wanted, and bearing the humiliation of wearing her heart on her sleeve at the same time. No, it just wouldn't work. _I should have known better. I should have had his back, but instead I gave in to what I wanted at his expense. _There it was: the heart of the matter. Mary couldn't tell him how badly she'd wanted him. He would reject her, finally seeing her as the same self-centered bitch everyone else already accepted her to be.

She wiped away a stray tear and continued filing. Suddenly, a bundle of papers caught her eye, stuffed at the back of the file drawer but not in a folder. She pulled them out to figure out where they belonged. The top one was a hospital bill that was a few months old, with Marshall's father's name on it. Her brow furrowed. Something about this didn't seem right; the other unfiled papers were a mess, in no particular order, or at least none she could discern. But this stack had been paper clipped together and stuffed, almost _stashed, _far behind the other folders in the desk. It reminded her of the way some of her witnesses had occasionally tried to hide personal items, photos and the like, not realizing that their clever hiding place was in fact incredibly common and obvious to the trained and suspicious eye.

Mary flipped through the stack, her need to ferret out secrecy overriding the sense that this was almost certainly not her business… minus the _almost. _Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she held in her hands; this was a record of treatments and payment receipts for some kind of long-term illness, and the papers dated right up to fairly recently and as far back as nearly a year. Her gut tightened as she put the pieces together; judging from what she saw here, Marshall's father had been ill for some time, had, in fact, been terminal for some time… and Marshall hadn't known. He couldn't have. Mary was reasonably certain he would have told her, and in any case, he had been far too surprised to learn his father was in the hospital dying for it to be otherwise.

Mary felt sick. This wasn't something she wanted to know. She didn't want to have to sort out the right and wrong of this; she felt certain Marshall should have been told, but it was also his parents' decision to make, wasn't it? And Mary certainly didn't want to be the one to tell him, but she couldn't keep it from him now. She was keeping too much from him already. She started to hyperventilate. She needed air. The study that had formerly seemed cozy and lived-in now felt stifling and claustrophobia-inducing. She bolted down the hall, her sights set on the front yard, not even registering that the sheaf of papers was still clutched in her hand.

* * *

Marshall had finally restored their shoes to a reasonable semblance of cleanliness. He might take his in to his shoe repair guy in Albuquerque just to be sure; cowboy boots were not the cheapest choice of footwear and sometimes needed maintenance, and like everything else he invested in, he hadn't gone low-end. He had no idea what Mary's shoes had cost and therefore whether she would even care, but he'd offer to take hers in too. After all, it was essentially his fault they were in their present state, and he wasn't one to shirk responsibility or stick someone else with the bill.

As he regarded his handiwork, the front door burst open and Mary came rocketing out. She apparently didn't even see him sitting on the steps, because before he could say anything, she ran right into him in a spectacular collision that he was certain would leave a rather large bruise. She flew more or less over him, and came down hard on the ground below, her shoulder meeting dirt with a sickening thud. Marshall recovered himself quickly and dropped to her side.

"Jesus, Mary! Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tense with worry as he reached out to touch her gently.

"Owww," Mary whimpered, trying to pick herself up but flopping back down from the exertion. She moaned softly and dropped her head to the dirt.

"Mare?" Marshall's voice was now thick with concern. "Mare! Come on, talk to me!"

"I'm okay," she groaned plaintively. "It just really… fucking… hurts."

Marshall felt the knot in his chest loosen. "Come on, Cowgirl. Get up and walk it off."

"What the hell even happened?" Mary asked, dazed, as he helped her up by the arm.

"You ran right into me and went completely ass over teakettle. Or in this case… papers?" he looked around, taking in a fairly extensive number of sheets of paper scattered around where she fell. "What had you in such a hurry anyw-" he cut off, having stooped to read one.

"Marshall, wait!" Mary cried, realizing in horror that she had inadvertently brought the telltale documents with her. They were everywhere; he had seen them, and it could not be undone. There was now no way to prepare him or soften the blow.

"Mare, what is this?" Marshall asked quietly, his eyes wide as he looked up at her.

Mary shook her head helplessly. "Marshall, I just found them, I didn't mean to tell you, I mean I was going to tell you but, you know, not like this!"

Marshall had picked up another sheet of paper, and another, scanning each rapidly, more quick to understand their meaning than Mary had been. "Oh my God…" he whispered. He began to scramble for them frantically, gathering them in panicked fists.

"Marshall…" Mary's voice broke. It was one more bad blow dealt to him and it hurt her to watch it unfold.

"Where did you find these?" he asked finally, his voice ragged even as he tried to steady it enough to speak.

"Marshall, please…" Mary reached for him, knowing he was on the edge. He grabbed her wrist, not allowing her to touch him. He stood, still gripping her arm though not hard enough to cause her pain, and assumed his full height in a stance that was usually reserved for making reticent witnesses crumble and stopping bad guys in their tracks.

"Mary." His voice was now steeled with anger. "Tell me right now. Where did you find these?"

Mary wasn't intimidated by him, did not in fact feel intimidated by nearly anyone, but instead realized that his anger was not for her but for his parents and the situation. She remembered the pain her own father's sudden departure had caused. Her mind flashed to a box of letters tucked away in her closet whose essence boiled down to _never stop thinking of me but I don't want you enough to come find you, have a nice life_, and she knew what a slap in the face this was to Marshall, even though his circumstances were so vastly different from hers. She knew that this new hurt was like a knife driven into his already wounded heart, and she felt her own heart break for her partner.

"They were wedged in the back of the file drawer," she whispered, tears beginning to fall as her face registered her partner's pain, while his own remained a mask of anger.

Marshall saw the anguish on her face. He knew he hadn't hurt her wrist, knew she wasn't afraid of him. He realized she was hurting for him, and that knowledge finally broke him. He began to shake, dropping the handful of documents as he pulled her to him. He fell against her, letting her take his weight, and he rested his head against hers as he trembled. Holding her in his arms, feeling her support him both physically and emotionally, he felt tears creep down his face. _It doesn't matter, _he thought. _Nothing matters anymore. Not my parents, not the funeral, not this. _He didn't want to care that his parents had hidden his father's illness from him. He didn't want to feel any more pain. He wanted to push down everything that had happened, put a lid on it, and never think about it again. He closed his eyes tightly, a shuddering sob escaping him. _I don't care anymore. I just don't fucking care._

Mary was in turmoil as she held her partner. She felt grief for his suffering, and it fogged her thoughts. She wanted desperately to be able to figure out how to help him, but she had no idea where to begin. On top of that, there was the secret she'd been keeping from him. Obviously he would not react well to something being kept from him after this, but now was certainly not the time to drop another bombshell on him. Mary knew he was on the verge of an emotional collapse, one from which he might not readily recover, and she was unwilling to add to his burden. The only option remaining, she decided, was to keep her secret, and deal with it when… _if… _he remembered. She could take that burden upon herself, at least, and spare him that final, crushing blow.

Mary buried her face in her partner's chest, crying silently, and there she and Marshall stood, each shaken to their core, holding each other in their mutual grief as the bright afternoon sun beat down upon them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just wish I did.**

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 10**

"I'm sitting on a porch of a ranch house in Texas, sipping lemonade, while the heat and humidity force me to baste in my own juices. I feel like a cliché," Mary said as the partners did exactly that.

"Could be worse, Mare. You could have called it a veranda," Marshall drawled. Mary scoffed and sucked at her straw.

"Could be better. This could be a mint julep in my hand. At least then I'd be getting buzzed while I sweat."

An awkward silence followed her words. Marshall couldn't help thinking of how callous he'd been to her that morning; the mention of drinking had reminded him. Mary was preoccupied with thoughts of her own.

"Mary," "Marshall," they broke the silence simultaneously, halting at the sudden collision of speech.

"Ladies first?" Marshall offered.

"Only one of us is a lady," Mary smirked, "and it isn't me."

"It's comforting to know that while you possess no manners whatsoever, you are at least capable of recognizing that I do."

"Just spit it out, Doofus."

"I want to apologize for this morning, and last night," he began.

"Marshall," Mary murmured, "you don't have to do that. You really don't."

"I do have to, actually; I said things this morning that were hurtful, and furthermore, baseless. I know you weren't trying to compare me to your mother, or judge me in any way. You were just trying to watch out for my best interests and I should have seen that."

Mary felt a twinge of guilt; she didn't think his best interests included sleeping with him when he was vulnerable. She had been reconsidering telling him all that had transpired the night before, but she had let him go first to postpone having to go through with it.

"As for last night," Marshall continued, "I still don't remember anything to speak of, and it's possible I never will. But whatever happened, I'm sorry for putting you through it. Having to break up a fight between me and my brothers, having to help me out of my clothes, while still outdoors, no less… I know I've always been a source of stability for you, I know you need that from me, and I regret forcing you to see me in that state. I shouldn't have had that much to drink and I regret that last night even happened. I'm truly sorry for anything I may have said or done to you that was out of line."

Mary bit her lip and nodded, eyes downcast. _Marshall doesn't even know what I did to him and he regrets it. _She knew that not telling him was the coward's way out, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to handle his inevitable rejection after the facts were all in. _There's no way I can ever tell him now._

"Don't worry about it," she whispered. Marshall was surprised. He had been certain that she would be angry at him.

"Are you sure, Mare?" he asked with caution.

"Yeah," she replied, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. "I accept your apology. Last night is written off as far as I'm concerned." She looked away again, suddenly very interested the flaking paint on the arm of her chair.

"Okay, then…" Marshall said slowly. He had expected… _something. _Something more than this. A fight, or having to beg, or a request for food before she would forgive him. A few days of making him miserable. Anything. He didn't expect her to just cave like that. It wasn't that he minded being let off the hook so easily… it was that something about it just didn't seem quite right.

"So, what did you have on your mind?" he prodded.

Mary looked up at him, distracted. "What?"

"I said your name, you said mine at the same time, and then you called me a woman and let me go first," Marshall prompted. "So what was it you were going to say?"

"I was thinking…" Mary scrambled for a plausible alternative to what was really bothering her, and found it. "You're probably going to have to talk to your mom, huh?"

"I've been thinking about that," Marshall eyed Mary contemplatively. She had a valid point, but he had a feeling that wasn't the topic she had originally intended to discuss. He was unable to pin down exactly why he felt that was the case, and he didn't want to press her, so he turned his thoughts back to her present question.

"I know what was kept from me, but I don't know why of it. I have to hear that from her." Marshall sighed. "I just want to come to some understanding of this. I need to know why they chose to do this."

Mary grasped his hand, and they sat together in the quiet of the afternoon.

"I'll talk to her tonight," Marshall resolved.

* * *

That evening, after the family had returned and settled in, Marshall waited for an opening. He didn't want to have this conversation in front of anyone else; his brothers weren't likely to take kindly either to the information he was asking about, assuming they didn't already know, or what they would perceive as him badgering their mother. He didn't want more violence or argument on top of what was undoubtedly going to be a very uncomfortable conversation. Marshall couldn't leave it alone, though; he couldn't come away from this with any acceptance of the situation when he had only partial knowledge of the circumstances. He needed answers, and he would get them. Eventually, he saw his mother head for her bedroom. He followed and tapped on her open door to announce himself. She looked up at the sound.

"Oh, Marshall! What is it, dear?" she asked.

"Mom," Marshall said quietly, "I need to speak with you."

The older woman stood in front of her dresser. "What about?" she asked, as she sifted through the contents of a drawer.

"We need to talk about dad," he replied. His voice was soft, but his tone brooked no argument.

His mother's hands froze. "What about him?" she asked warily.

"I think you know."

His blue eyes met matching blue, and he saw a mingling of sadness, defiance… and guilt. He held out the now wrinkled and soiled bundle of medical records to her. She clutched them in her hands as an expression of resignation crossed her face.

"Marshall…"

"Why didn't either of you tell me he was sick?" Marshall pleaded.

"That was the way your father wanted it. He didn't want any of you kids to know."

"And you didn't think I had the right to know my own father was ill?" Marshall hissed. "That he was dying? You didn't think I would want to come see him before it was too late?" He let the question hang in the air.

"You did want to come see him," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you were planning to come out here around the holidays?"

"Yeah, I do. You told me the two of you had decided to take a cruise, that we could get together later…" Marshall's eyes widened. "No, Mom, don't tell me…"

"Your father was in the hospital for two weeks," she answered, a tremor in her voice. "We thought it might be the end, that time… but he told me the same thing then that he told me when he was admitted to the hospital before he died." Marshall looked at her, uncomprehending, as she continued.

"He told me not to call anyone until we knew for sure." Marshall felt a surge of anger at her words.

"Goddammit, Mom…" Marshall raised voice was cut off by a stinging slap to his cheek. He recoiled, looking at her in shock, his own hand going to his face.

"Marshall, you know I have never laid a hand to you, but you will not speak to me that way," she cried, tears in her eyes. "I did what I could for my husband, whom I have just buried. I fulfilled the last request he ever made of me, and I won't take that back!"

Marshall swallowed roughly and looked to the ground.

"I can only hope, my baby, that you will one day be blessed enough to understand what that means," his mother added softly. Marshall felt fresh tears on his cheeks and nodded as she turned from him.

"I'll ask you not to tell your brothers about this." Marshall's head snapped up in surprise.

"What? You still don't plan on telling them?" Marshall was stunned.

"No good can come from them knowing! I did as my husband asked of me and now all I can do is protect my boys."

"Mom… you can't hide the truth from them. They'll find out sooner or later, like I did."

"Marshall, I will only tell you this once, and I expect you to abide by my wishes," his mother said sternly. "It is my decision to make, and I have made it. You will not tell them. It is not your secret to tell."

"If that's the way you want to play this," Marshall replied bitterly, "then that's your business, but I won't be a party to it." He turned to the door.

"Marshall…" she called to him. He hesitated before turning back to her.

"I strongly urge you reconsider… before you lose your other sons." Marshall's mother watched, speechless, as he departed.

Marshall nearly ran into Mary where she stood in the hall. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, not really; she had just been waiting to make sure Marshall would be okay. But she had heard everything.

"Get packed," his speech was measured and dispassionate. "We're on the road at first light."

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but realized she had no idea what to say.

* * *

Later that night, they both lay awake in bed. Mary was uncertain how to either broach the topic of their impending departure, or offer Marshall comfort. She had been down the mom-fight road more times than she cared to remember, but she suspected nothing about Jinx was in any way relevant to the situation with Marshall's mother.

"Marshall?" Mary glanced at him He stared at the ceiling, unmoving.

"What?" his answer came, stilted, into the silence of the guest room.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly. He turned his head to face her and regarded her for a moment, uncertain how to put his thoughts into words. Finally, he replied.

"I just keep thinking… 'I want to go home.' But, I am home… aren't I?" His eyes held a desperate sadness.

"Oh, Marshall…" Mary breathed, a tear slipping to her cheek. He reached up to brush it away. After looking at her a moment more, he rolled onto his side and curled against her. She heard him murmur softly.

"I want to go home, Mare. Please… take me home."

* * *

_This entire trip, _Mary reflected, _was one disaster after another. One great, big, hairy, goddamned mess._

It wasn't like she had thought it would be peaches and cream, of course. She had known from the outset that Marshall's father would likely die, that there would be complicated feelings in play, and that Marshall would need her to help him through it all, no matter what came to pass. _And what a fabulous job you did there, Mary! _she berated herself. _You not only failed to even get Marshall there in time to see his dad, you also managed to let him drink himself stupid and fight with his brothers, and then you just had to screw him on top of it. And when it comes to the icing on the proverbial cake, you then discovered a horrible family secret and caused him to have a huge fight with his mom… _

And here they were, driving back to Albuquerque. Though neither of them had slept well, Marshall had them heading down the dirt road at sunup, though Mary had once more insisted on taking the wheel. While she was only a bit tired, Marshall was exhausted and prone to distraction. Mary questioned the wisdom of leaving with so much unresolved, but Marshall's will wouldn't be moved, and so, they drove. Marshall stared out the window until lack of sleep and the strain of the week overtook him, and he began to doze. Mary fervently hoped he would be able to rebuild his relationship with his mother, but she knew there was little chance of that until the woman confessed to his brothers the truth of their father's last year of life. She had a feeling the frequent phone calls to Mom were going to be on hold indefinitely.

The only thing that had worked out remotely well over the past few days was the fact that, because Marshall's brothers had been so drunk the night of the fight and Marshall had gotten away from it largely unmarked, the two of them thought they had beaten the crap out of each other. Other than that, Mary worried this trip might have done more harm than good. Looking back on the previous evening, she wondered how Marshall would be able to begin picking up the pieces.

Mary huffed in dissatisfaction, tightening her grip on the steering wheel as the road behind them blurred into the horizon. She sucked down convenience store coffee and listened to the thrumming of the engine and the sound of her partner's breathing as he fitfully slept. She hated how rough the week had been for him, hated that she had felt powerless in the face of events beyond her control, events that had run Marshall over like road kill. She took a deep breath and blew it out; maybe, with the return to more comfortable surroundings, she and Marshall could start finding their way back to normal.

The open road stretched all the way to Albuquerque, and Mary let it lead them home.

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter is brought to you by an author who is sick, had a dentist appointment, got a flat tire, and still wrote this for you. Consider it my thanks for the wonderful reviews you've given me! Next time on Unintended Consequences: Marshall deserves a little down time, don't you think? I'm feeling some fluff coming on. =)  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just yell at it when Mary gets too close to men who aren't Marshall.**

**Author's Note: I am still somewhat sick but feeling better for now. Everything else going on yesterday worked out well. I want to thank everyone for their well wishes and concern. You guys made me feel so much better! Thank you for your awesome reviews as well! The improvement in my health has brought about a slightly longer chapter than usual which I hope you'll enjoy. Marshall gets a break, as promised, and there's a slight twist at the end... what? Less fluffy and more serious than I'd intended, but Marshall has been spared the cheese-grater-o'-drama... for now. Let me know what you think!**

**Oh, and as far as I know, the catalog I've mentioned doesn't exist... but if you ever see one like it, let me know! ;)**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 11**

Late in the afternoon, Mary pulled into Marshall's driveway, still driving the government property SUV she'd accepted from Stan. She would return it the next day, she decided, and bring Marshall's vehicle back, after she had gotten Marshall settled at home. It gave her time to think up something to tell their boss about the fist-sized dents in the passenger side door. Marshall's hand had healed up nicely over the course of the week, fortunately not suffering fresh injury when he had hit his brother. As she had followed the familiar turns to Marshall's home, he had begun to wake, stirred either by the variation in speed or the familiar pattern of sensation, perhaps both.

Now, he wordlessly opened the door and slid from the seat. He moved to his front door and fumbled for his keys, unable to locate them. Mary saw a look of horror cross his face; he clearly thought he had lost them at some point in the week. Mary grabbed their bags from the back and fished his keys out of hers; she'd pocketed them after getting their bags from his vehicle before they had left. She whistled for his attention and tossed them to him. He caught them with a confused look; he had apparently forgotten that she had them. Mary wasn't surprised. The past week being what it had, she figured there would be a lot of things he wouldn't remember aside from the night he'd been drunk.

Marshall went straight for the shower, and Mary puttered around his house, watering plants, opening and closing blinds for optimum afternoon lighting, and surveying for food. Most of what he had was frozen, gone bad, or too complicated for her to make, so she called for a pizza. She made a brief call to Stan, informing him they were back in town and of her plans to swap cars the next day, and while she was talking to him she decided to have him clear Marshall and herself for leave through the end of the week. That would give Marshall a few days to reboot after the past week's events, and she would be able to keep an eye on him. Hanging up, Mary turned on the television set and put on the Discovery Channel. She knew Marshall liked it, and she figured it would make him gravitate to the couch like a moth to a flame.

When he returned from his shower, he wore a plain shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms covered in, Mary noticed after squinting for a minute, Marshal's stars. _Unbelievable._

"Where on earth did you get those?" Mary asked, for once genuinely intrigued by one of his odd acquisitions.

"I ordered them from a law enforcement gift catalog last year," he replied. He settled on the sofa just as Mary had predicted, but seemed less interested than Mary had hoped.

"You know you could have asked for them for Christmas or something," Mary teased.

"I figured you'd think they were lame," he shrugged, looking back to her, "like my rocket ship pajamas."

"No, I think they're pretty cool. I kind of wish I had some," Mary smirked, though not unkindly.

"I don't think the catalog will be out again until closer to the holidays, but they were a set and I never really wear the top half, so you can have that if you want. Um, as long as you don't mind not having pants."

Mary sized Marshall up, trying to decide if his slightly awkward offer was genuine or part of a larger plot to leave her in a state of pantslessness. Genuine, she decided; the look now on his face suggested he hadn't intended the offer to come out as weird as it had sounded. To Mary, Marshall seemed somewhat disconnected. _He must still be tired from the trip, _she decided.

"You're pretty tall, Marshall, so if it's your size it'll probably be long enough," Mary considered. "Fine, you have yourself a deal; I'll do you a favor and take your unwanted pajama shirt off your hands."

"You could wear it tonight, if you wanted to stay over," Marshall offered hesitantly.

"Are you asking me to stay, or offering pajamas just in case?"

Marshall fidgeted before responding. "I just got really used to us… sleeping together this past week, and…" he trailed off, not meeting her eyes.

"Marshall?" Mary reached out, turning his face back to her. "Talk to me."

His eyes met hers.

"I don't want to be alone."

Mary's breath caught; she could see a myriad of emotions in his eyes, on his face… loneliness, confusion, hurt…

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to, " he spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper yet threaded with emotion.

She reached to him and smoothed a few stray bits of hair back into place.

"Of course I'll stay, Marshall," she replied softly, then smiled. "Anyway, I already ordered a pizza, and I can't say no to free pajamas."

He caught her hand in his as she trailed her fingers down his cheek.

"Thank you, Mare," he murmured as he brought her palm to his lips and placed a soft kiss there.

Mary felt a blush creeping into her face, but just then, the doorbell announced their pizza's arrival. She jumped up to go pay for it, and then paused.

"You know, Marshall," she said offhandedly, "I think your rocket ship jammies are pretty cool, too." Mary turned to collect their dinner, and Marshall turned his attention to the television with a faint half-smile of satisfaction. They settled in, eating pizza and watching stuff get blown up on TV. Mary liked the most destructive shows the best and Marshall found the content to be a sufficient diversion.

After food was had, though Marshall had mostly just picked at his, Mary took her turn in the shower. Marshall set out the pajama shirt for her next to her bag. He wandered back to the living room to wait for her, feeling uncertain as to what to do with himself. Everything that was required of him in the wake of his father's death was done. There were no more distractions; the funeral was done, the business of meeting up with relatives was over… the skeletons in the family closet brought to light. He sighed. He had no idea what he was going to do about his mom. He realized the ball was in her court, unless he decided to take back his ultimatum that she tell his brothers the facts about their father, but he couldn't do that. He didn't want that complicity in the lie. He already knew too much for comfort, and all that kept him from speaking up was his respect and love for his mother. He almost wished that this betrayal and the subsequent burden of silence imposed on him would make him somehow care about her less, but of course that wasn't the truth at all. He still loved his mother as much as always, and that allowed the hurt to run more deeply than he would ever have thought possible.

_This must be what Mary's felt like her whole life. _Marshall's heart ached as the epiphany washed over him. The many times he had judged her for putting up with her family's issues flashed through his mind. He had never fully understood why she didn't just walk away. Now, finally, one more of Mary's many mysteries began to become clear to him. She didn't walk away because it would hurt worse than putting up with Jinx's usual brand of misery. When all was said and done, it all came down to the fact that Mary had a mother and didn't want to lose her, especially after her father had left. Although he had no doubt that Mary would be just fine with casually misplacing Jinx for a while - she hadn't called home to check on things much in the last week, as far as Marshall had noticed - Mary was as vulnerable as anyone when it came to the possibility of actually losing her mom, no matter how crazy the woman was.

All day, Mary had simply been there for him, not asking if he was alright in regards to his mother. It seemed so obvious, suddenly; she hadn't asked because she had known from her own experience that he wasn't. A tear slipped down his face and he sniffled slightly as he wiped it away. It seemed somehow wrong to him that after he had failed so many times to grasp the significance of Mary's tolerance of her mother, she would still be so kind to him when he found himself in a similar situation. But that, too, was Mary; she didn't readily ignore the suffering of another even if they had been less than understanding of her own pain.

Marshall burrowed into the couch under a throw blanket and forced himself to stare at the television, waiting for his partner to return. He felt relieved when the shower shut off; she would join him soon, and he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts anymore.

When Mary finally came out, she was wearing the shirt, with white cotton panties that the shirt hung low enough to cover decently, but only just. She also wore a pair of socks. Marshall's eyes widened as he took in her bare, well-muscled legs. He'd seen them before, obviously, when she had worn pajama shorts and the like, but though the length of the shirt was comparable to the shorts he'd occasionally seen her in, the mere knowledge of the absence of pants lent a more provocative feel to her ensemble.

"Yeah, I know. I look like I'm starring in Risky Business," she sassed when she noticed him staring.

"Again with a really out of date movie reference, however appropriate. Don't you watch anything new?" he teased her. In truth, he found the fact that she wouldn't easily let something go once she decided she liked it to be rather appealing. _Something we have in common, _he thought with a smile.

"Of course I do," she replied, sliding in her socked feet down the last bit of hard flooring before it gave way to carpet. "But if a dog will hunt, I'll stick with it." She padded over to the couch and sat next to him, stealing some of his blanket without asking. Not that he particularly minded, of course, except that now he could no longer see her legs.

"Can I ask you a question, Marshall?" Mary asked after they'd sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Obviously you are more than capable, since you just did. But I'll allow another."

"Dork," she muttered with a playful swat. Another moment of silence, and then, "If you thought I would think these pajamas were dumb, then why did you wear them?" She fingered the cloth of the shirt she wore, looking at all the small, printed versions of the badge they both carried.

"What makes you think I didn't just wear them for the sake of wearing them?" he replied evasively.

"Hmm, I dunno," she said with mild sarcasm, "could it possibly be the fact that I've seen just about every pair of bizarre pajama pants you own between road trips and movie nights and the couple of times I've caught you in them on laundry day, and yet I have never seen these? And despite the fact that you obviously thought I wasn't paying attention, I actually do remember most of them and I certainly would have remembered a pair with the Marshal's badge all over them."

"Coincidence?" he offered, sounding entirely unconvincing.

"Given the fact that you just told me you've had them for months and you usually show off your new stuff as soon as you can, it makes it pretty clear that you didn't want me to see these. And that being the case, it makes me wonder," her tone softened, "why tonight?"

"You know how stupid everyone thinks it is," Marshall said with a sigh. Mary looked at him questioningly and he continued. "That I'm a Marshal named Marshall. I didn't really want to be Marshal Marshall with Marshal pajamas on top of that, even though I couldn't help wanting to buy them when I saw them. I do wear them, just not around anybody else… well, at this point 'anybody else' is pretty much you exclusively. But that's why you haven't seen them before."

"Marshall, nobody really thinks it's stupid. A little funny, maybe, but not stupid. It's just part of who you are," Mary twined her arm around his and leaned on his shoulder. Marshall glanced down at her.

"My father named me that, you know? Marshall. I was the one he chose to carry on the legacy. I never wanted to be anything else when I was growing up, except maybe a cowboy and it's really the next best thing. Especially when you figure that real cowboys do things like ranching cattle instead of meting out cold, hard justice like they do in westerns." Mary couldn't help but smile at the image conjured by his words; Marshall as a little boy, running around with a toy gun and a cowboy hat.

"He even used to let me play with his badge sometimes, if I'd been really good while he was away. He used to tell me if I worked really hard, I'd have one of my own when I grew up, just like his. And that's exactly what I did. I love my job so much. It's all I've ever wanted and…" Marshall's voice broke and he drew a ragged breath. "The man who gave me this life is gone, Mare. I never even thanked him for it."

Mary pulled Marshall into a hug. He buried his face against her neck and breathed her scent; it calmed him as he brought his emotions back under control. He knew he would need to get it out at some point, but after the emotional nature of the last few days he just didn't have it in him at the moment.

"You don't have to say the words for someone to know you're grateful for something like that. You took the legacy he handed down to you and made it yours. I'm sure that was proof enough," Mary said soothingly. Marshall felt the truth of her words. He knew in his heart that his father was pleased with the direction his life had taken. He just couldn't stop wishing for one more chance to say all the things that had gone unsaid.

"As senseless as this sounds, when I saw the pants in the drawer, I felt like if I wore them, I could feel just a little closer to him for a while," he murmured

Mary nuzzled his hair and kissed his head lightly. She wouldn't be able to respond verbally to that lonely admission without tears, which would cause Marshall to cry as well. She knew him well enough to know that right now, he would want to take a break from the wild surges of emotion that had marked the past week.

"I'm just so tired, Mare," his voice came faintly to her ear.

"Come on, Marshall," she said softly as she pulled him after her, leading the way to the bedroom. "It's time to get some sleep."

* * *

_Flesh pressed against naked, sweat-kissed flesh. He was enraptured by the smell of her, by the salty taste of her skin as he suckled her neck. Hot breathy moans filled his ear as a rumble of thunder split the night. His hands explored decadent curves, mapping forbidden territory as they trailed upward to tangle in golden hair. Her thighs wrapped around him, pressing him against her molten center…_

Marshall awoke with a gasp. It took him a moment to realize he had been dreaming. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart as he took in his surroundings. He was in his bedroom. He wasn't alone. _Mary. _He remembered that she had agreed to stay the night. _She wouldn't again, though, if she had woken up to this…_

She had obviously cuddled against him in her sleep. Both partners were still clad in their respective pajamas, but her legs had been bare when they'd gone to bed and one was now draped over his waist. Nor was she the only unwitting participant; Marshall had woken up with his hand gripping her thigh a bit too close to her ass for him to get away with it, and his face nestled to her neck. The smell of her and the feel of her must have triggered the intensely erotic dream, which had undoubtedly also incorporated the storm he now heard giving the occasional crack of thunder and lashing the windows with rain. It wasn't that surprising; he'd certainly had a number of erotic dreams about his partner before. _Who wouldn't?_ he thought with a mingled pulse of amusement at the fact that one could hardly help it and jealousy at the uncomfortable fact that countless other men undoubtedly felt the same way. What was unsettling, though, was how real the dream had felt.

Marshall rolled away from her slightly, still allowing her to remain snuggled next to him but ensuring that he wouldn't inadvertently alert her to the urgent erection with which the dream had left him. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, watching the patterns made by flashes of lightning through the cracks in the blinds, until his body calmed and sleep claimed him once more.

* * *

**Parting Note: Uh-oh, what's this now? Repressed memories mistaken for dreams? But for how long? Only time will tell! Wait, that's not quite right. Only future chapters will tell! =P**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: In Plain Sight, how do I own thee? Let me count the ways: Zero. Oh well.**

**Author's Note: Your reviews please me to no end! This story would never have gone this far without you, my dear readers! M&M's down time is almost at an end, and then it's back to the trenches! Enjoy their relaxation time with them while they still have it! =)**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 12**

The next few days passed, for the most part, in a slow blur of inactivity and take-out food. When Mary had returned from swapping vehicles at the office, she had found Marshall still in bed, which was well outside his usual range of behavior. She had left him alone for a while after that because she knew he needed rest, but at a point she started to worry. She had gone in and opened up his blinds to the fierce light of day, only to have him retreat into his blankets and pillows like a caterpillar into a cocoon. That was usually more Mary's style. He had spent most of the day that way, getting up only when necessary for the bathroom or limited water and food. Mary noticed later, when she joined him that night, that he had closed the blinds again. Marshall had continued to follow this pattern for three more days, and Mary wasn't having it any longer.

"Marshall," Mary called to him as she opened the blinds, "come on, get up. You can't sleep forever."

Marshall mumbled something incomprehensible and stuffed his head under the pillow. Mary climbed onto the bed next to him, shaking his shoulder.

"Seriously, Marshall! You've been in bed for days and it's beginning to freak me out. Not to mention the fact that you're starting to smell more than a little bit bad." Mary laid down. Marshall pulled his head out from under the pillow and looked at her, bleary-eyed.

"So? It's not like there's anything I need to be doing."

"How about keeping me company? I've been going stir crazy here. I got so desperate, I cleaned out your fridge just because there wasn't anything good on cable. Also, I found that Elizabethan romance mini-series on your DVR. Cute."

"The ones produced by the BBC are always the best."

"Probably because there's not really anybody else who makes them, Marshall. Come on. Get up already. I'm desperate. And I'm serious about the smell."

Marshall growled like a bear and sat up. His hair was greasy and sticking up in random directions, and the rest of him looked sweaty. His pajamas looked more than a little worn and there was drool crusted to his face.

"Fine. Since I'm so offensive to your olfactory senses, I'll take a shower. But don't say I never did anything for you."

Marshall plodded to the bathroom and let the door fall shut behind him. He took a look at himself in the mirror. Mary was right. He looked like he was falling apart. His face was a patchwork of growth that went slightly beyond stubble, a sad testament both to his emotional state and to the fact that he would never, ever wear a beard because it just wouldn't grow in properly. His hair and face were both so oily that it made him feel a little bit queasy when he touched them, and his teeth… he breathed into his cupped hand, sniffed, and recoiled; he had clearly passed kitten breath a long time ago. _Dear God, how did Mary manage to sleep in the same room with me? _He turned on the shower and fanatically brushed his teeth while the water warmed up. Having corrected one heinous miscarriage of hygiene, he climbed in and set out to rectify the rest.

As the water beat down, he lathered fervently while he thought about his state of affairs over the past few days. He didn't really want to admit that even though neglecting himself had felt all kinds of wrong, it had also felt somehow fitting. His father was dead and part of him felt the desire to disengage from all the things his father was now denied; company, food, wakefulness, feeling. Breath. Life. He didn't want to die or anything so dramatic, not by a long shot, but to say that he had not wanted to experience life for a while would hit pretty close to the mark. He had wanted to simply shut down; it had seemed the appropriate thing to do, and moreover, he had not felt possessed of the will to do anything else. In spite of that, it had not been the case that he'd spent the whole time feeling nothing. There had been times when his emotions had raged so deeply and had come upon him so suddenly that he'd felt sick; at those times, he could only bury his face in a pillow and cry until he had nothing left, and then numbness would overtake him again.

He might still be in bed now if Mary had not played upon his natural fastidiousness. Marshall didn't like feeling filthy, and once she had pointed out how dirty he was getting, he could think of little else. There was also the fact that Mary had cleaned his fridge, and if she'd felt the need then it must have been truly disgusting. He had known it was coming due before they'd had to set out for his hometown, and it had to have gotten worse in his absence. Marshall finished his shower, then shaved and picked at himself until he deemed the result suitable. He was surprised at how much better just being clean again made him feel; he was finally beginning to feel centered, like the ground under his feet was no longer shifting at random. He felt like he could finally relax for a little while, if only a few hours, without feeling exposed to a sudden flux of emotion.

He had dreamed during his time in bed. Though scattered and infrequent, the dreams had disturbed him. He dreamed nightmarishly of his father's death and of distorted versions of his own childhood, and then the dreams would shift and become of a sexual and incredibly lewd nature, featuring Mary and himself. He would wake, gasping and sweating, with a snarl of contradictory emotions roiling within him. It wasn't exactly as if the arousal of the latter half of the dreams felt pleasant, for it remained laced with the panic and grief of dreaming about his father's death. He felt that dreams of his father being overrun by base sexual fantasy was unspeakably inappropriate and it made him wonder if there was something wrong with him. The dreams were a panorama of his preoccupations turned to nightmare, and he fought to put them out of his mind.

Marshall emerged from the bathroom to find that his bed had been stripped. Undoubtedly Mary was attempting to prevent him from going back to sleep, and the sheets would have needed to be washed anyway. He could just make out the sound of his washing machine, and he smiled faintly. She was trying so hard to keep him together, and while a part of him felt guilty for putting her in that position, it otherwise made him feel happy to be cared for. He put on the fresh pajamas that had been set out for him and went to find his partner. He found her waiting in the living room.

The couch cushions had been pulled off and leaned against the front of the piece of furniture; his coffee table had been pushed against the wall and in its place was a nest of blankets Mary had clearly dug out of the linen closet. She sat in the middle of it, shuffling through a selection of movies she'd gotten down from their shelves. He smiled again when he saw that below her tank top, she was now wearing borrowed pants, a suspiciously familiar pair with rocket ships on them. She must have washed the clothes from their trip over the last few days. She looked up, sensing his approach.

"Well, look who finally looks human again. I was thinking we should have a movie day? Well, afternoon, since morning's pretty much over," Mary proposed, holding up the stack of DVDs. "I figured you'd still want to take it easy today, even though you shouldn't sleep more."

"That sounds fine. What do you want to watch first?" Marshall settled next to her, leaning against a repurposed couch cushion.

"You can pick," Mary offered, her tone slightly insincere. Marshall laughed softly.

"I know you, Mare. You already have one in mind to watch first, though I do appreciate the gesture. So what's it going to be?"

"Top Gun!" Mary cried without hesitation. Marshall gestured in the direction of the DVD player and Mary scrambled to insert the disc. She crawled back over to him and sat, slipping her feet under a blanket as she tucked herself beneath Marshall's arm. He drew her to his side and looked down at her fondly. He'd loved this woman for so long, and he felt the recent struggle they had shared had brought them closer. Perhaps not as close as he might wish - not yet - but he appreciated any advancement in what was between them, however small. He impulsively pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, she glanced at him.

"What was that for?" she asked, an attractive blush coloring her face.

"For being here," he murmured. "For being you."

"Please," she lowered her eyes. "I'm not that great, Marshall."

He reached for her and tilted her face up to look at him, fingers resting gently under her chin.

"You are, to me."

"Well, you're the only one who thinks so," she muttered defiantly.

"That's only because everyone else is an idiot," Marshall said before pressing his lips to her cheek and then her forehead again.

"Movie's starting," she mumbled. Mary felt like she had become the color of a lobster as she turned back to the TV. Marshall could be effortless in his expression of affection when he chose to be, and it made her incredibly self-conscious. _Even if I felt that way about him… even though I _do _feel that way about him… it isn't something I could ever just come out and say. If I wanted to have something more casual, if there weren't these feelings, I'd have nothing to lose and it would be easy. _But it wasn't like that for Mary. It wasn't easy at all.

Marshall watched Mary's internal debate cast a doubtful expression across her face. He knew she didn't take compliments well, and though the kisses had remained acceptable within the context of friendship she was probably winding herself into knots over them. He simply hadn't been able to resist. He wasn't particularly worried, however; he knew Mary, and she would either sort out or dismiss whatever issue she was having. He smiled as he felt her settle a bit closer to him, now intently watching the screen. He knew that whatever it was she'd been thinking about, she had decided to roll with it. _That's my girl.

* * *

_

A few movies later, the pair was still settled in their now well-broken-in nest in the living room. Mary was beginning to think about dinner and was just about to ask Marshall what kind of takeout she should call for, when the doorbell rang. Mary hopped up to answer before Marshall could manage, and on the doorstep she found their boss.

"Hey, Stan," she greeted him in confusion. "What's up? Is everything all right with our witnesses?"

Stan held out a placating hand, seeing that his appearance had caused her to become concerned.

"Everything's fine. I was just leaving the office and I thought I'd come by to see how you both were doing. There's also some stuff about work I wanted to discuss, but it's nothing urgent."

Mary nodded, about to invite him in, when suddenly a heavenly scent reached her nostrils.

"What is that incredible smell?" she asked, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

"Oh, right," Stan held up some bags. "I brought food. I didn't know whether you two had dinner yet and I figured you could either eat it or reheat it later."

"Is… is it Chinese? It's Chinese, isn't it!" Mary grabbed the bags greedily. "Is there kung pao? Oh please let there be kung pao…"

"There's a double order," Stan nodded.

"You are like some kind of short, balding _god_, Stan!" Mary exclaimed before bounding toward the kitchen with her delicious bounty. Marshall emerged from the living room to see Mary headed into the kitchen with the takeout bags. He looked the other way to see their boss still standing on the porch.

"Hey, Stan. You'll have to excuse Mary. She was apparently raised by wolves. Either that or she's worried you might be a vampire. Come on in."

"Thanks, Marshall," Stan replied, entering the house at last. He followed Mary's course to the kitchen, Marshall closing the door and following a few paces behind.

"Did you happen to get anything with vegetables?" Marshall asked hopefully. Stan cast an amused glance over his shoulder.

"I got some broccoli beef and that chicken green bean thing you like."

"You know us too well, Stan," Marshall replied with a grin. "So, is this work stuff something we can get out of the way before we eat? We were about to watch a movie. You should stay and watch it with us."

"What movie?"

"Dirty Harry. Come on, Stan, you can't say no to that."

"Okay, for that, I think I can get this done pretty quick."

"It had better only take as long as it takes me to dish up," Mary said, already opening cartons, "because once this food is on a plate, I'm eating it."

"I know I told you two that you could take all the time you needed and you both still have leave time left, but I need one of you back in the office on Monday. We have a witness coming in."

"A witness you can't handle, Stan? I mean, not that I mind coming in," Mary murmured as she licked a drip of sauce off of her hand. "Oh that is so good…"

"Remember that guy they sent to Detroit when the airport shut down? The one we were supposed to take originally?" The partners nodded. "Well, apparently Detroit didn't work out so well."

"It hasn't even been two weeks," Marshall's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Stan sighed in frustration. "That information is being restricted to a pay grade higher than mine. All I know is, they've cleared him for transport here, and he's coming in on Monday. File indicates he's likely to be a real handful and I want his intake handled by whichever one of you is going to be his primary handler. I want this guy managed all the way."

"No problem, Stan," Mary shrugged, "I'll be the primary and I'll get him all checked in and settled."

"I'm coming in on Monday too," Marshall added quickly.

"You sure you're ready?" Mary asked candidly.

"No, but I'll ride a desk until I've got that figured out. I didn't like the look of this guy's file the first time I saw it and I want to be there in case you need me. I can still go over threat assessments and I'll even spare you the distraction of filling out paperwork."

"How about it, Stan? Because I am not going to be able to hold off on this food anymore," Mary left the decision to their boss.

"Sounds good," Stan agreed as they made their way to the living room. He finally noticed what Mary was wearing. "Say, Mary… do those pants have spaceships all over them?"

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Really, Stan… it's not as if they're mine."

* * *

**... Where did Stan sit during the movie? I think he probably sat in an armchair, or they put the cushions back on the sofa... he didn't get into their blanket nest with them... did he? See you next chapter! =P**

**(And no, he didn't.)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't blame me that M&M haven't hooked up on the show yet.**

**Author's Note: I felt the need for some action, so Chapter 13 is bad luck for our heroes! Thank you for reading and leaving such great reviews! And just so we're very clear, I will never, _ever_ write a three-way between M&M and Stan. =)**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 13**

Marshall's return to work had been easier than he'd thought it would be, at first. Jumping back into the thick of things had provided a distraction from his feelings that he desperately needed. He wanted to push forward, get his life back on track. Mary had stayed with him as long as she could, until Jinx nearly burned the house down trying to cook while drunk and Mary felt the siren call to go micromanage that disaster. Marshall had thought the dreams would fade once she was no longer sleeping in his bed. That had not proved to be the case; the dreams had become less frequent, but more vivid. On a few occasions, he had felt them slipping into his waking mind as he watched his partner at her desk, an occurrence that left him squirming in his seat and feeling like he was somehow perverse. _Dirty._ Aside from that, though, he felt he was holding it together pretty well, especially in the face of their latest challenge.

It hadn't been particularly problematic at the outset. Mary's new witness was a bit edgy, but paranoia wasn't uncommon in witnesses. The lack of information on the guy still made Marshall uncomfortable, since something had obviously happened in Detroit, but no one was talking, on orders from higher up the food chain. They knew he was a witness against a New Jersey mob hitter, whom he had apparently seen butchering his neighbor in some spectacular fashion. That was the sum total of what they had on the man, aside from pertinent vital statistics, and their witness didn't seem eager to enlighten them.

Henry Munroe, now known as Henry Moore, was a twenty-four year old computer programmer who worked from home. He had a penchant for spying on his neighbors, which was how he had seen the murder take place. This was accomplished largely by means of binoculars and telescopes, since Henry hated to leave his house. Marshall suspected agoraphobia with some attendant anxiety disorders at the very least, but somehow the witness had evaded professional diagnosis; at least, there was no mention of any psychological evaluation in the dossier, and the request he'd sent up the ladder to have one performed was denied. That in and of itself was unusual, but the order had come down from higher up than Stan could reach, and that was that. _For now, _Marshall thought privately. He wasn't going to take his eye off the guy for a minute if he could help it. He had Stan making repeated requests for the full file in the hopes that one would finally stick.

As the weeks wore on, Henry wore the partners out. He appeared to possess the belief that anyone he saw repeatedly was likely to be after him; the bulk of his concerns were about his mail carrier watching him too closely, and when another carrier took over the route as a result of Henry's numerous phone complaints to the post office, he hadn't been appeased. He simply believed that they were all working for the same agency. Mary had patiently explained that they were indeed employees of one particular agency that was run by the government, not for the purposes of spying on him but instead for the purposes of losing his mail. He hadn't brought up the post office as much since then, but Mary still had Marshall running background checks and threat assessments on all sorts of people from the guy living next door to the girl who bagged his groceries. It didn't matter how ridiculous the complaint was; once Henry filed it, they had to run it down.

Nor was that the only problem posed by their witness. Mary had arranged for grocery delivery to Henry's house after he'd complained about enough of the grocery store employees, but he had been banned from use of the service when he had screamed at the delivery boy one time too many. He now had Mary running his errands until a better solution could be found. His calls to her were nearly constant, his needs endless and growing more odd by the day. It had been made clear by the powers that be that the witness was to be kept as placated as possible until the trial no matter what it took, and that order wasn't being rescinded even though Mary was running herself ragged. Marshall and even Stan had taken over a few of her other witnesses to give her more time to deal with Henry, but it hadn't really helped; Henry had soaked up Mary's extra time like a sponge, and she was exhausted. When Mary had caught the flu and was so stressed that her immune system seemed not particularly capable of fighting it off, Marshall finally stepped in.

"Mare, this is getting ridiculous. Look at you. Do you even sleep, anymore? Or do you just spend all night answering calls, too?"

"What am I supposed to do, Marshall?" Mary snapped. "This guy has my ass in a sling. There isn't a damn thing I can do about it until he testifies in a month."

"Do you seriously think you can do another month of this?" Marshall replied incredulously. "Look at yourself. You're exhausted and you're sick. You look like death warmed over, and even though you should be home, in bed, you're here, fielding calls and running to the bathroom to throw up. You can't go on like this, Mare!"

"She doesn't have a choice," Stan broke in reluctantly. "The federal prosecutor has decided the mob hit man he fingered for the murder is some kind of big fish that'll make a lot of dominoes fall if they can put him away. My bosses have made it clear that if he isn't ready to testify when the time comes, they'll have Mary's job."

"What? I don't believe this. That is such bullshit, Stan, and you know it!" Marshall was livid.

"Yeah, Marshall, I do," Stan replied, bristling, "and I'm doing what I can to get something worked out, but until then, you're both going to have to make the best of it. I'm sorry." Stan retreated to his office.

"Look, Marshall, I can handle it. Once I kick this flu-" Mary was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. "Damn! It's him. Again."

"Perfect. Just great. You don't need this right now, Mare. Whatever it is, just tell him you'll see him on your scheduled visit next week, please?"

"Hey, Henry," Mary answered her phone. "I can't right now. I have other witnesses, Henry, not just you. I'll see you when I come by next week. No, I can't just drop what I'm doing and come by unless it's an emergency. No, being out of aluminum foil is not an emergency, Henry. Oh, you know what? Fine. Jesus. I'll come by with your stupid foil in a little while. Yeah. Bye, Henry."

Marshall's jaw worked in frustration as he listened to his partner talk to her witness. With Stan's hands tied by orders from on high, there was little Marshall could do, and Mary wouldn't ignore her witnesses needs no matter how absurd they got, especially with her job on the line. That didn't mean Marshall could do nothing, however.

"Okay, Mary, look… I'll take this. You wrap up here and go home. Come back when you're feeling better and we'll work out a plan for dealing with Henry together."

"I dunno, Marshall. He really doesn't like you. He was really agitated during the visits you made with me, remember?"

"I don't care. He'll just have to take what he can get. Besides, do you really think he gives a damn who he gets his foil from as long as he gets it?"

"Yeah, Marshall, I do," Mary sighed, "but you're right. I can barely stay awake. There's no way I can deal with him today." She glanced up at her partner. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

"Come on, how hard can it be?" With that, Marshall snapped up his keys and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Mary ended up staying in the office a little longer, wrapping up odds and ends for her other witnesses and doing a little paperwork. She knew she should get home before Marshall came back, but she wanted to make sure everything was in order for him first. Then she just sat at her desk, feeling queasy and zoned out. She laid her head down for just a minute, and the next thing she knew it was two hours later. Her brow furrowed; Marshall should have been back by now. On the other hand, he might have opted to cover a few more witness visits while he was out. He undoubtedly thought she had already gone home. _I really should do that,_ Mary decided_._

She was gathering her things when Stan came out of the office. "Mary, we may have a problem."

"What is it?" she asked as worry began to course through her at Stan's tone. She really wished Marshall had come back already, even if it meant being caught still in the office.

"We got Henry Munroe's complete file. He's a lot more unstable than we thought he was."

Mary grabbed the file and started reading. "He got relocated from Detroit for blowing his own cover?"

"Apparently he called several local alien abduction chapters claiming that the government had kidnapped him and was trying to hand him over to aliens for experimentation."

"What? How did this guy not get a psych exam?"

"It gets worse. That bomb threat that closed down the airport the day Marshall's dad died? It was our guy. Apparently he didn't want to come here because, you know, New Mexico and all that alien crap. It got written off on the threat assessment the Detroit office did because he did it himself and in their great wisdom my bosses decided to send him here anyway."

"Oh my God, Stan! And we didn't need to know this, why?" Mary was seething.

"The prosecutor and the FBI swept it under the rug trying to maintain him as a credible witness. They're determined to use him to put that mob hitter away, they claim it might break a stack of pending organized crime cases wide open. It's not like we haven't seen that kind of thing happen before." Mary started typing on her computer as Stan spoke.

"It looks like we have the same problem all over again. I just dumped his phone records and he's been making dozens of calls to numbers that trace back to UFO-related organizations. I need to call Marshall and get him back here to help sort this out."

She dialed Marshall's number. Her face paled when the call went straight to voicemail.

"What is it?" Stan asked when he saw the color drain from her face.

"His phone's off. Something's wrong ," her eyes sought Stan's helplessly. "Stan, he went to see Henry in my place."

* * *

Marshall came to in a room lit by a bare bulb. He tried to get up only to discover he was held in place on a hard surface by restraints of some kind. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was duct-taped. He turned his attention to his surroundings as his mind grew more able to focus. The walls and ceiling were coated in something metallic and faintly reflective… aluminum foil, he realized. No light came from the window, which was also covered in foil, foam padding poking out from underneath, presumably to muffle any sound.

He tried to remember how he'd gotten here. He had come to the house on Mary's behalf, but no one had answered his knock. Trying the knob and finding it open, he had entered with caution. The rest of the house had been wallpapered in a similarly creative manner. He'd thought he heard a sound behind him, but before he could turn, he'd been hit over the head and darkness had claimed him.

A form emerged from the shadowed doorway. Marshall's eyes widened. It was Henry. He looked disoriented and jumpy, startling easily and appearing to look in the direction of sounds that Marshall couldn't hear.

"No!" Henry screamed suddenly at no one. "No… no… no… you can't hide from me anymore. I know you're there!"

Suddenly everything made sense, in retrospect, like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place. The anxiety problems, the paranoia, the delusional beliefs… and hallucinations as well, if what Marshall believed he was seeing was accurate. Mary's witness, Marshall guessed, was likely an undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and appeared to be experiencing a psychotic break from reality.

Marshall fought the panic now surging through him, trapped and helpless to defend himself as Henry moved closer, something sharp in his hand glinting in the light cast by the single bulb.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight... a fact of which this chapter would probably make M&M most appreciative.**

**Author's Note: Sorry this is going up so late tonight. I received a last minute notice that the water to my building will be shut off all day tomorrow for "scheduled repairs" that for some reason involve maintenance having to enter the apartment, and I felt the need to clean up. Not to mention having to get my laundry done, seeing as I will be without water tomorrow. ****You'd think that if the repairs were "scheduled" as claimed, they could give me more notice than one evening! ****On that note, I will absolutely try to get a chapter written up for an update tomorrow, but it will depend on how involved these repairs are. Since it's the whole building they can't possibly spend a lot of time in just mine, so here's hoping! I'm counting on your reviews to see me through! ;)  


* * *

**

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 14**

"You think I can't see what you are," Henry's voice quavered in the small room as he moved closer to Marshall. "You think I don't _know. _But you… you aren't as good at hiding as you think you are."

Marshall's eyes were glued to the delusional man. He tested the strength of his bonds but found they were too tight to escape. As Henry moved closer, he raised his hand and Marshall got a clear look at the object that had been reflecting the overhead light. A scalpel. _Not good. _Marshall struggled harder although he knew it was useless; at this point, it was the only course of action he had. His cries of panic were muffled by the duct tape over his mouth. He knew no one could hear him but he couldn't stifle the impulse.

"How well you fake human emotions! You blend right in, especially in that flesh suit you wear. But I know," Henry continued. "I know what you are and soon everyone else will know too. Once I cut you open, everyone will be able to see how different you really are."

Marshall whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut at Henry's words. He had occasionally wondered how it would end for him, but the thought process had been largely academic at the time. Even the times his life had been endangered in the field, he hadn't truly felt it was the end. Now he knew; he was going to die at the hands of a man who was so far out of his mind he probably had no rational understanding of what he was doing, tied to a table in a cramped back room lined with tinfoil. From the look of that scalpel, Marshall knew he wouldn't go easily, and he found himself praying that once the cutting started, he'd quickly lose enough blood to pass out early on.

"You can't trick me!" Henry screamed, his hand shaking as he held it over Marshall's chest. "You can't make me feel sorry for you. You've experimented on innocent human beings too many times. And now… I'm going to show you to the world."

Henry slit Marshall's shirt open and Marshall flinched as the scalpel nicked his flesh. He felt Henry's sweat drip onto him as his shirt was pulled back, exposing him to the merciless steel of the scalpel's blade, now hovering into position to strike.

In that moment, Marshall thought of Mary.

* * *

The SUV screamed down the road as Mary urged it on toward Henry's house. Stan rode next to her, holding on for dear life as she took a corner hard enough to challenge the vehicle's roll factor. He let out a held breath as he felt the car's weight shift back to center.

"Mary, we should call ABQPD for backup, get some medical support out here."

"We can't do that, Stan. Not yet. If Henry's as unstable as I think he is, he might completely lose it if he hears sirens. We can call for paramedics once we see what we're dealing with."

"Mary… I don't know if it's a good idea for you to go in there. We don't know what we might find," Stan spoke grimly.

"Stan, all we know right now is that Henry's got more problems than we thought and Marshall's phone is dead. For all we know the battery could have died."

Both Stan and Mary knew it wasn't the case; in the unlikely event that Marshall might have let the battery run down, he would certainly have used the car charger they knew he owned, and that scenario didn't account for the gut feeling of sick worry overwhelming them both. Stan knew that Mary had to hold onto that one shred of hope, however false it might be, to keep from falling apart before she could find her partner.

Mary slowed as she took the turn to Henry's house. She parked a few houses down and she and Stan approached as stealthily as possible. When they got to the porch, Mary tried to get a line of sight inside but found her view obscured by what looked like…

"Oh my God. No wonder he needed more aluminum foil," she murmured.

"How do you want to play this?" Stan asked softly. He was her boss, but this was her partner on the line and her witness was involved, and he deferred to her expertise. Besides, it would be unwise to challenge her authority where Marshall was concerned, and Stan wasn't an idiot.

"Unlocked," Mary whispered as she tested the knob. The door opened with barely a sound. "We go in."

She led the way in, noting that the entire living room had been redecorated in foil. This had gone way past the foil hat stage, and she had failed to see it… but this was not the time for self-doubt. She and Stan silently cleared room after room and came at last to a back bedroom, the door barring their way. Light shone out the crack at the bottom. She listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, she kicked the door open.

* * *

The world became chaos. There were noises, loud bangs and shouts that remained unintelligible; Henry recoiled as the blonde approached him. He thought he recognized her; she was their minion, or their keeper; he hadn't fully decided which but certainly she was complicit in their affairs. He prepared to launch himself at her when the form behind her entered the room. He thought it was a man at first, but no; as he watched, the receding hair vanished completely and revealed the figure for what it was: a short, gray-fleshed being with a bulbous bald head and huge black eyes. He struggled to understand why the alien was wearing a suit and pointing a gun at him when it could easily have employed its hideous telepathy instead. He recoiled in terror, dropping the scalpel, falling to the floor and scuttling back into a corner, but escape was not possible; the blonde… was she even human? … was on him, dragging him forward and roughly forcing him into cold, metallic, alien restraints. She - it? - shoved him toward the short alien which now had its human guise firmly in place once more, and he was dragged from the room as the being barked guttural orders into its communication device.

Mary shoved her witness over to Stan, who had his cell out as soon as he heard the handcuffs click. He was already putting out calls for police backup and medical assistance as he dragged the raving man out of the room. She turned to where her partner lay on the table, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. She tenderly pulled the duct tape from his mouth.

"Marshall…" she breathed softly, her hand reaching tentatively toward his face, hovering with uncertainty over whether he would want to be touched.

"I didn't think… anybody was coming…" his voice came, barely a whisper. He turned his head to look at her. "Please, Mare, get me out of these things."

He pulled against his bonds with a wrist, and she realized he'd been attached to the table by well-placed medical restraints. Apparently her witness had been doing some shopping of his own, after all.

"Jesus, Marshall," Mary murmured as she make quick work of the buckled cuffs, "what was he trying to do to you?"

Marshall made no reply as he sat up. Her eyes tracked him as he moved, long legs hanging over the side of the table, a dazed look on his face. Mary noticed a small gash on his chest, perhaps an inch and a half long, and the hair on the back of his head was matted with blood.

"You're hurt," she reached for the wound, and Marshall flinched away, a look of terror briefly crossing his features. _He doesn't realize he's been rescued, _she thought. "Come on, Marshall. We can wait for the paramedics outside."

She headed for the door and he followed her almost automatically. Henry began babbling something about Marshall being the tall, skinny variety of alien as they passed through the living room; Marshall paled noticeably and Mary hurried him outside to the lawn as Stan told Henry in no uncertain terms to be quiet while silence was still optional.

When EMS arrived, they made quick work of Marshall's head wound. It had mostly stopped bleeding and he would need to go to the hospital to get it thoroughly checked out, but when they offered to take him, Marshall adamantly refused. Mary saw the way he looked at the gurney and understood; it would remind him too much of the table in that back bedroom, and he was completely unwilling to subject himself anything that was remotely reminiscent of his recent ordeal. Mary got Marshall settled in the SUV she and Stan had driven, and took him to the hospital herself.

Stan volunteered to remain with Mr. Henry Munroe a.k.a. Henry Moore during his arrest and transport, very likely to a secured ward in a hospital. He would almost certainly be declared mentally incompetent and there was also the fact that he had given away his location to several alien and UFO watchdog groups in the area. Henry was compromised in every sense of the word. It was unclear what responsibilities the Witsec agreement bound Stan's office to fulfill under the circumstances, but what was clear as crystal was the fact that neither of his marshals were in any state to sort the matter out. Stan resolved to look into the man's involvement in the crime he had supposedly witnessed, events to which he would now never be able to testify in a court of law.

* * *

Marshall felt numb. He couldn't begin to process the events that had transpired. He had been faced with the certainty of his own death, by one of the most horrible methods he could imagine, and he could neither bear to think about his memory of the event nor could he accept this new reality in which his death had not actually occurred. He was hanging in limbo, unable to grasp a single thread by which he could begin to sort out everything that had happened, everything that he felt.

When they had arrived at the hospital, Mary had set about bullying everyone at the admissions desk with her badge and her attitude. Apparently she actually managed to make some headway, because Marshall was taken to an examination room relatively quickly. When he saw the bed, however, he felt panic rising within him, the same as he had when the paramedics' gurney had caught his eye. Mary laid a hand gently on his shoulder and he jumped, startled. She gestured to the chair instead.

"Sit down, Marshall. If they have to put you in a bed to examine you, we'll deal with that then."

He nodded and folded himself into the chair, the kind that seemed universal to hospital settings: excessively square, and too low to the ground for him to sit in for a prolonged period of time with any amount of comfort. Nonetheless, it was preferable to having to lie on his back and feel exposed to the world.

A nurse appeared, and Marshall asked Mary to wait outside; he wouldn't be able to remain dispassionate in retelling his experience with her there, and he needed to get some distance from it, at least for long enough to get through the exam. The look she gave him as she left the room told him she understood perfectly. He didn't dwell on it too long, since at this point her empathy would only make him break down and he needed to keep it together. He simply let the comfort of knowing she understood wash over him, and then let it go.

His head wound was examined and prodded, a small patch of hair was shaved to get a better look at it, and in a short time he had some fresh stitches to go with his new patchy look. The doctor decided he could be released shortly if someone would stay with him overnight, and he had no doubt Mary would anyway, whether she was medically necessary or not. His release was now contingent on one thing only, and this he dreaded: a consult with a psychologist who specialized in emotional trauma following an attack. Of course it was prudent. One hardly went through waking up restrained and nearly being brutally murdered without being affected by it, and he would have and in fact had insisted on that course of action when something happened to Mary, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He knew he'd end up on desk duty for a while, too, but he didn't really care about that. He felt that he might be a bit soured on fieldwork for a while anyway.

Mary saw the counselor enter Marshall's room and knew exactly why she was there. She felt for her partner; reliving the event so soon was upsetting, but necessary. When after some time the counselor emerged, Mary bombarded her with questions that she knew would likely prove futile to ask, but she had to try.

"Listen, I know you can't legally talk about anything he said to you. But I'm his partner and I need to know… how is he doing? Is he going to be okay?"

The counselor smiled faintly, apparently amused. "He said you would ask. He told me it's alright to inform you of my findings. His reaction is about what one would expect under the circumstances. His ordeal was undoubtedly traumatizing and his present state reflects that, but he should recover with support from those close to him and with what counseling is required to clear him for the field. Should that not prove to be the case he can seek additional therapy as needed."

Mary nodded in unexpected satisfaction. "So is he going to be released?"

"I'll have his discharge papers written up as soon as possible," she paused. "It's a relief to see there's already someone here who cares about him."

Mary waited until the psychologist left, and knocked softly on the door to Marshall's room. He heard him invite her in, and she found him still seated in the chair. He had traded his clothes for a set of scrubs; his clothes lay in a bag on the floor. Mary's brow furrowed.

"Figured I'd better bag my stuff. It's probably evidence. Shirt was ruined anyway. I, um…" Marshall glanced down, avoiding her gaze. His hand moved to the back of his head and picked at the bandage taped over his stitches.

Mary crouched in front of him and balanced herself with her hands on his knees. She looked up at him, concerned.

"I pissed my pants, Mare." He looked away again. "Maybe when I was unconscious, maybe not… I don't know."

"Oh, Marshall…" Mary bit her lip to rein in her emotions; she had to be the strong one now.

Marshall met her eyes. "I was so fucking scared," his voice shook and a few tears slipped down his face. "I thought I was going to die. I thought I'd never see you again. I knew you'd look when you realized I was gone, but… I told you to go home and I didn't think you'd realize I was missing until it was too late."

He curled forward as she reached for him; his face fell to her shoulder and her arms went around his neck.

"I knew you would be the one to find me," he whispered. "I thought… I thought you were going to find me after he was done with me, and you'd have to see… I didn't want you to see whatever was left of me."

"It's okay, Marshall. Everything's okay," Mary murmured, one hand moving to rub soothing circles on his back.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. The nurse delivered Marshall's discharge paperwork and a care sheet so Mary would know what to look for while she was watching him.

"Come on, Marshall," Mary stood and offered him her hand, which he took and used to lever himself out of the awkwardly small chair. "Let's get you home."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, I just love it more than ever after tonight's episode!**

**Author's Note: Between repairs to my plumbing (literal, not figurative) and anticipation over tonight's episode, I didn't get a whole lot done... too many things to wind myself up in knots about. I can now officially say that tonight's episode has made my story very, very AU, but I have to say, "Son of Mann" was exactly the kind of episode that In Plain Sight needs more of: more Marshall! And speaking of, I decided to give Mary a little more Marshall in this update. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 15**

Mary wasn't surprised that the first thing Marshall wanted to do when he got home was take a shower. He'd been told to keep his stitches dry and bandaged for the first day, after which the bandage wouldn't stick anyway because the shaved patch under it would start growing out, and true to form, Marshall owned a shower cap._ Doesn't that just figure, _Mary thought, unable to stifle a small smirk when she saw him wearing it. The only shower caps that ever appeared in her house were the ones that came packaged with Jinx's hair dye.

Mary also wasn't surprised when Marshall refused to sleep in his bed, opting instead to sleep sitting up on the couch. This soon after his ordeal, waking up on his back again would be unbearable, no matter where it was that he woke up. Mary curled up on the far end of the sofa, sinking into a light sleep, an ability perfected by countless witness transports.

The nightmares were only a surprise to Mary in the sense that she wasn't awake when the screaming started. She had no doubts that they would happen sooner or later. She thought that Marshall had once told her that dreams were the mind's way of processing the day's events in sleep, or something like that, and the past day had been eventful if nothing else. When Marshall's terrified cries roused her, she reached for him, softly calling his name.

The moment her hand touched his arm, she realized she had made a mistake. His eyes snapped open with a shout and he flailed wildly, catching her with a glancing blow that was nonetheless strengthened by the force of his fear. Mary fell back on the couch with a grunt, running her hand over her cheekbone and around her eye where he'd inadvertently struck her. The flesh was tender, and she suspected she would have a black eye by morning.

Marshall was hyperventilating and his hands gripped the cushion and the arm of the sofa, but his breathing began to slow as he became aware of his surroundings. He also became aware of his partner as she sat up, one hand still rubbing her face.

"Ow," she murmured as she moved her hand away, opening and closing her eye a few times.

"Mary? What's wrong?" he asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"It's nothing," she replied softly. "You were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you."

"And I hit you," Marshall concluded, feeling a bit sick. "Mare, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that. Besides, I told you it was nothing."

Marshall reached for the lamp on the end table and clicked it on. Mary shifted slightly, trying to keep the left side of her face in shadow, but Marshall's insistent hands cupped her chin and turned her to face him.

"It's red and already beginning to swell," he hissed softly as he examined her injury. "Let me get you an ice pack." He got up and headed for the kitchen.

"Dammit, Marshall, I told you it wasn't a big deal," Mary called after him.

"You're going to have a black eye no matter what you do," Marshall returned, wrapping the ice pack in a towel. "But if you don't ice it, you'll have a black eye that's swollen shut. Here, fifteen to twenty minutes once an hour."

Mary took the ice pack grudgingly and settled it against her face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Marshall glanced up from where he'd sat. "I think we should. I know I didn't hit you on purpose but I don't really feel like that's an excuse. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

"Not that, numbnuts. I meant about the nightmares," Mary clarified. "I mean, I get why you feel bad about socking me in the eye but you don't have to. I shouldn't have tried to touch you when you were like that, and it's not like you had any control over it."

"It was that bad?" Marshall winced.

"Yeah, you screamed, you flailed, the works. So are you gonna talk about it or not? It's up to you."

Marshall sat back in resignation. "I was dreaming I was back there, with him. That he was… that you didn't arrive when you did, and he had time keep going. And then, while he was… cutting me… I looked over and saw my dad, dead, cut up the same as me."

"Marshall, your dad didn't die that way. You didn't die at all."

"I know, Mare, but I'm having a hard time convincing myself of that. I can't shake this feeling… like I didn't really get away."

Marshall sighed, running a hand through his hair and stopping abruptly when his fingers found the bandage.

"I feel like this isn't even my life anymore. A month and a half ago, everything was normal, and now… my dad's gone, I'm no longer on speaking terms with my mother, I almost died today, and on top of that I had a nightmare that caused me to hit you. I feel like the only thing I haven't managed to screw up is us, and the way things are going…" he trailed off as he gestured toward her eye. Mary felt a pang of guilt; if he knew they'd slept together after his father's funeral, he would definitely count that as another screw-up, a major one.

"Marshall, you know that's a load of crap. Yeah, okay, your dad's dead but there was nothing you could do about it. You aren't talking to your mom because she screwed up, not you. Henry isn't your fault, that's either me for not seeing it or the powers that be for withholding the damn file. And you and me… we're not even close to screwed up," Mary paused for breath. "And even if we were screwed up, it wouldn't be your fault, it would be mine."

Marshall's brow creased as he tried to make sense of her last statement. "What does that mean, Mare?" he asked in confusion.

"Nothing. I dunno," she replied evasively. "Look, it isn't even your fault you couldn't get to your dad in time. I don't know if it will do you any good to know this but you'll find out anyway. Henry's the one who called in the bomb threat that closed down the airport that day."

"What?" Marshall asked, incredulous. "Why?"

"Because he didn't want to come to New Mexico, apparently."

"Oh… because of Roswell."

"You _would _get that. Roswell isn't even that close to Albuquerque," Mary huffed.

"Close enough, it would seem," Marshall mulled over the new information, and Mary was surprised that he wasn't more upset about it.

"It doesn't bother you, that Henry did that?" Mary asked, perplexed.

Marshall shrugged again. "It might if I'd have been able to get there in time. But Dad died so early on in the drive there that even if I'd flown out I wouldn't have made it. And when you think about it, if I had flown, I probably would have gone by myself, and I would have been alone that whole week."

"You had your family," Mary murmured self-consciously.

"It isn't the same thing, Mare. They aren't you," Marshall reached for the ice pack. "You're done with that for the next forty minutes or so."

Taking the ice pack from her and setting it aside, he shifted closer, again inspecting her face. His fingers hovered lightly over the injury, creating the barest hint of sensation where they brushed her skin. His hand slipped down and back to cradle her head and he leaned in, bringing his lips to her cheekbone and lightly pressing a small kiss there, and another at the corner of her eye. He pulled back, watching her, his hand still just below her ear and his fingers twined in her hair.

"Trying to make it better, Marshall?" Mary asked, deliberately flippant, trying both to calm and disguise the nervous flutter that moved throughout her being. "I don't think there's any medical basis for that treatment."

Marshall watched her try to deflect, saw right through her effort, and before he knew what had come over him, he leaned in again and met her lips with his own. He felt her tense slightly, from surprise, he thought; if she didn't want this he'd have a hand print on his face by now. Her lips under his maintained contact, not pressing for more but neither did she withdraw, and he took that as permission to continue. He kissed her softly, steadily at first, and then with increasing pressure. He felt her begin to engage with him and he pressed forward, capturing her mouth with increasing urgency His tongue brushed along her lower lip, seeking to gain entry to her mouth, and she granted it.

Repeatedly they kissed, lips colliding, tongues questing, and in the course of their pursuits, Mary found herself pressed to the couch which Marshall atop her. She was nearly breathless from his fervent kisses, and when she felt him grind against her like a lustful teenager, she felt fire course through her. She wanted him, wanted desperately to be filled with and consumed by him again, this man that…

_Again. _Because this had already happened once… _and it can't happen again, not now. Not when I've kept that from him._

Marshall felt Mary tense beneath him, and this time he knew it was more than surprise at his actions. He pulled back and looked at her; he saw on her face conflict, and regret. With one finger, he brushed some loose strands of hair back from her flushed face.

"It's okay, Mare," he murmured. "I just wanted to feel… like I'm alive. Don't worry about it." He was lying, a little bit; it was that, but not just that. He had always wanted her, wanted so badly to be with her… but he wouldn't push. That would only make her run.

"Marshall, I… I don't want to hurt you. I just don't think right now is a good time… for so much to change, so quickly. Not with everything that's just happened," she stammered, her eyes searching his, expecting to find anger or disappointment. She found neither, but instead… hope? She replayed in her mind what had just happened and realized she had said _not right now _instead of _not at all._ She didn't bother to correct herself; she couldn't go back. She knew that once she figured out how to tell him her secret, she would take her chance with him if it was still offered. _If I can figure out how to tell him. Assuming he'd still have me. _But tonight was not that night; too much had gone on today that needed time to settle, and Mary could not begin to solve that problem after the day they had both had. She found herself wondering if the right time would ever come.

Marshall saw the realization of the meaning of her words as it crossed her face. If she didn't mean exactly that, she'd recant it, but she didn't. He couldn't help the faint smile that crept onto his face.

"So what you're saying is… not now… but not never?"

Mary stared at him, surprised at how astute he could be and not for the first time. Her immediate reaction was to deny it, but the utterance died before it could be given voice. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"I like that a lot better than no," Marshall whispered as he dipped forward to drop one last, chaste kiss on Mary's lips.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. I have enough on my plate trying to take over the world!**

**Author's Note: I found out today that not only are repairs to my apartment's plumbing not complete, but the water will be shut off again at unspecified times for more work which will not begin until it is determined whether the problem is even repairable! On top of that, even when the water's on, no one is getting their water heaters turned back on until it's all sorted out. So I'll be taking freezing cold showers for the next few days. Lovely!**

**But I won't take it out on my dear readers, oh no. Here is a very special chapter just for you. =)**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 16**

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Stan blurted out when his marshals arrived at the office the next day.

"Uh, no…" Marshall drawled slowly. "You're right about her being Mary, but I'm Marshall, and your name is Stan."

"Funny," Stan replied, though with more exasperation than humor. "What the hell happened to her eye? I thought she was with you all night."

Marshall sucked in a breath and glanced at the floor. Mary couldn't help but notice the look of guilt that crossed his face as he thought about the black eye he'd inadvertently given her the night before.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Marshall, it was an accident," Mary admonished before turning to Stan. "I didn't realize how ticklish he is."

"I had a nightmare," Marshall explained, "and when she tried to wake me up… I punched her."

"Come on, it wasn't that bad. It was more like a strong backhand."

"Mary, that really isn't any better."

"Just get over it. We already kissed and made up."

Marshall froze, and Stan's jaw dropped at her words. Mary took in their respective looks of panic and surprise.

"Stan, we didn't really kiss. It's just a thing people say. Close your mouth before you catch flies," Mary's voice dripped sarcasm.

"… Right. Moving on, then…" Stan said, sounding not entirely convinced. "Marshall, you know you're on desk duty until the shrink clears you. Mary can handle your witnesses until then."

The pair went through the usual show of protests and Stan retreated to his office. Marshall turned to Mary, looking flustered.

"I can't believe you said that to him! Do you want him to find out? What if he wanted to separate us over it?" he whispered forcefully.

"Get over it, Prudence. Stan would find an excuse to keep us together. No one else would want to partner with me, anyway. There are some definite plus sides to being impossible to deal with."

Marshall took a calming breath and let it out slowly. Mary was probably incorrect in her belief that Stan wouldn't separate them, but on the other hand, Stan probably didn't have any reason to suspect something had happened between them. Marshall knew he was overreacting a little bit, but he couldn't help the feeling of vulnerability that rose within him at the thought of being split up from his partner. After the events of the previous day, he needed her more than ever. Separation just wasn't an option.

Fortunately for the partners, there wasn't much to do this morning. They sat at their desks, filling out odd bits of paperwork and reviewing witness files. After a few hours, a messenger arrived with a packet for Stan, and a short while after receiving it, Stan emerged from his office again.

"I think you should both see this. It's the file on the murder Henry supposedly witnessed."

Mary grabbed the file and flipped through it, stopping short at the crime scene photos. "Oh my God," she whispered as her eyes widened in alarm. She slapped the file down on her desk and bolted for the bathroom, one hand over her mouth.

"I guess she still isn't over the flu," Marshall murmured as he went to retrieve the file.

"Maybe. There's some pretty grisly stuff in there, Marshall."

Marshall picked the folder up and leafed through its contents.

"Dear God. Stan, these photos…"

"Yeah, I know. The coroner's report confirmed that it's exactly what it looks like. The guy was given an autopsy while he was still alive. Blood loss indicates he lived until major organs were removed."

"How the hell did this ever get labeled as a mob hit? They don't kill like this." Marshall felt nauseous.

"The prosecutor was really gunning for that mobster they arrested, probably got tunnel vision. It looks like the vic was actually laundering money for the crime ring, so Henry would've seen him around. Probably was so out of his mind that he believed it when he told the cops the guy did it."

"You're telling me Henry did this?" Marshall paled. "This is what he was going to do to me?"

"He made several admissions to that effect while I was arranging his stay in the psych ward. Delusional ravings, all of it, but he seemed to think he was performing an alien autopsy."

Marshall looked more closely at the photos. "How on earth did he get the ribcage open? The scalpel he tried to use on me wouldn't do that."

Stan grimaced. "As for the murder, I can't say, but we found a pair of bolt-cutters under the table you were strapped to."

A gagging sound alerted Stan and Marshall to Mary's brief presence as she entered the room, only to overhear their conversation and flee to the bathroom once more. Marshall watched her go, and then sat heavily at his desk.

"I figured it was something like that, from some of the things Henry said when he had me, but…" Marshall rubbed at his eyes as though trying to dispel the images he'd seen, "… the reality of it is so much worse than I'd imagined. You and Mary could have ended up looking at photos of me like that. You could have actually ended up seeing it if you'd gotten there any later."

"Hear me when I tell you this," Stan spoke with determination. "There was never a moment when Mary and I gave up on you. We never let ourselves believe we'd be too late. I tried to prepare her for the possibility but she never accepted it and I never really believed it either."

Marshall looked up at his boss. "Thanks, Stan," he said, feeling a comforting warmth spread through him at his boss's words. Seeing the crime scene photos had been horrible, but the realization that he hadn't died, that Mary hadn't allowed him to die, had finally started to sink in.

Mary returned from the bathroom and flopped at her desk.

"You okay?" Marshall inquired after her.

"Yeah, I just can't shake this damn bug, that's all."

"You should go home and rest."

"Right, and if a witness needs protecting, you'll do what? Bury the bad guys in paperwork?" Mary rubbed at her stomach. "Great, first I'm puking my guts out and now I'm starving. This is the weirdest flu ever."

Marshall's brow furrowed. "That is actually a bit strange. Maybe you should go see a doctor like normal people do."

"So he can charge me money to tell me to wait for it to go away? No thanks."

"Suit yourself," Marshall shrugged as he reached into his drawer, pulling out a paper bag. "There's a sandwich in here with your name on it, if you want it."

"You brought a lunch and didn't bring one for me, too?" Mary complained as she snatched the bag, rummaging through it. "Hey, there are two sandwiches in here."

"And there are two of us. Amazing, isn't it?"

Mary packed down her sandwich with a zeal that Marshall found slightly frightening, though he was pleased she appreciated his offering. He watched her as she started to unwrap the second sandwich, a furtive look on her face.

"Seriously? You're going to eat mine, too?"

"But Marshall," she whined, "I'm really hungry. I've hardly kept anything down for the past week."

"Have at it, then. You could have told me you were feeling that bad."

"The job was more important," she said dismissively as she bit into his lunch. "Oh my God. This is so good…"

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," he chastised.

She muttered something around a mouthful of food that might have been, "Stuff it, Marshall," and continued eating. He couldn't help but laugh a little as he watched Mary go to town. She was shameless when it came down to something she wanted.

* * *

The morning passed into afternoon. The relative silence in the absence of Henry's calls was pure bliss as far as the partners were concerned. Marshall was surprised to see Mary doze off at her desk, but there wasn't anything they needed to be doing at the moment and he knew she needed rest, so he let her sleep. Marshall knew he would feel the emotional impact of the attack yesterday for some time to come, but right now, in the office that was warmly flooded with the afternoon sun, watching his partner sleep, he felt that all was right in his world.

_And last night, _he thought back, _there's that too. _Mary hadn't exactly confessed to having feelings for him, but she had as good as admitted that she was interested in pursuing something with him. They weren't anything official - _yet_ - but Marshall now had a real reason to hope they could become more than they had been, something he'd wanted for so long. He smiled faintly. It could very well be that before long, the dreams he'd been having of her would be a reality. _Of course, that's where you go with this, _he thought to himself. _Who could help it, though? _It was true; he loved Mary, really, truly and deeply, but he was still a guy, and he wasn't above wanting her in that way either.

Those dreams, though, had been so vivid, had seemed so real. What was more, after they had kissed, Marshall had realized that the dreams were actually accurate, at least what parts of them he could compare to reality. Mary, as she had lain beneath him on his sofa, had actually felt the way she had in his dreams. Marshall's brow furrowed. It was definitely strange, now that he thought about it. He supposed it was just years of being in close proximity to her… but that didn't feel like the truth. People were never exactly as imagined when it came to that sort of thing, however good it might feel. He searched for an explanation but couldn't come up with one at all.

Marshall's thoughts were interrupted by his partner's awakening. With a grunt that made her sound like something that might live on a farm, Mary lifted her head from her desk in what Marshall privately considered a glorious tangle of golden hair, and peeled away her calendar which had become cemented to her face by a small puddle of drool.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Ready to rejoin the world of the living?"

She muttered an obscenity at him and he grinned, giggling silently at her reaction. He knew better than to bother her when she was on either end of sleep, but there were times when he just couldn't resist the temptation. He watched as she looked around blearily, trying to get all of her sleeping ducks in a row. She wiped a hand across her face and glanced down at the calendar that had so offended her.

Marshall cocked his head to one side as he saw Mary's eyes narrow and her brow crease; she snapped up the calendar, looking at is closely. One hand traced over it, and then she flipped back a few months, looking over each one. She returned to the current page, setting the calendar down, and appeared to be counting something on it. She pulled out a pen and made a small notation, then stared at it for a moment, a blank expression masking her features.

Marshall was about to ask her what was bothering her when suddenly, she rocketed into a blur of motion, grabbing her gun and badge, jacket and keys; everything she would need if she were leaving.

"Heading out?" Marshall asked, concerned.

"I, uh, had an appointment that I forgot about," she murmured distractedly. "I'll be back later." With that, she took off for the elevator with quick strides.

Stan poked his head out of his office. "Is Mary taking a late lunch or something?"

"There was an appointment she forgot about," Marshall repeated her excuse even though he wasn't buying it for a second.

"Oh. Okay, then." Stan retreated, going back to doing… _whatever it is he does in there… _and Marshall was left alone with his own burning curiosity regarding Mary's departure.

When she had been gone long enough that he could be certain she wouldn't come back for something she'd left behind and catch him at her desk, Marshall made his way over. He picked up the calendar and looked at it. There were no appointments written down for the day.

_Could be something she does regularly and forgot to write down, _he thought, flipping through the previous months as he'd seen her do. He found nothing. _No, there's something. _He noticed a small red dot marked on each page, occurring just about once a month… _Every four weeks, almost exactly. Her period, then. _He turned back to the current month. There, midway through the previous week where the dot should have been, was a question mark. _That's what I just saw her write, _he realized.

He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him as he put the pieces together. She'd been sick for a week and a half, with a stomach bug that just wouldn't clear up. _Not the flu… morning sickness. She's been tired… and she ate my lunch on top of hers. _And now this, a skipped period. Mary, he realized, was pregnant, and had only just figured it out. But since when? She hadn't had any boyfriends recently that he knew of, in fact he recalled that she'd been cranky for about a month before his dad had died because she didn't have anyone and bar-crawls for one-night stands had lost their appeal. He was pretty sure that after his dad had died she hadn't had the opportunity, since she had spent the bulk of her time first looking after him and then Henry. There simply hadn't been time.

Marshall tried a different approach. If Mary was a typical presentation, which wasn't a safe assumption but was all Marshall had to work with, she'd probably conceived sometime before the last period she'd had. He flipped to that page and counted back, looking for the most likely time. His fingers came to rest on…

_The week my dad died. Right there, smack in the middle. _Marshall stared, leaning forward with one hand on the desk holding him up. That couldn't be right, since he could account for her that entire week… but he had a gut feeling that he was exactly right no matter how impossible it seemed. He closed his eyes, willing an answer to present itself to him.

_Dreams. _His eyes flew open. _Not dreams. Memories. _That was why he had known in such detail what Mary would feel like if they made love, how she would sound…

They already had.

And he'd forgotten. That had to be it; he'd had sex with her while he was drunk, and when she realized he'd forgotten the next day, she'd hidden the truth from him.

_And she's pregnant, _he reminded himself. Her words of the other night came back to him. _"And even if we were screwed up, it wouldn't be your fault, it would be mine." _How this could be her fault, he had no idea. _If it's anyone's fault, it's my own. I'm responsible for this. _

Marshall ran a hand through his hair and stared down at his partner's desk, a dull ache filling his heart. There was no way to fix this. He'd finally blown the last thing he had left.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own IPS, and even if I did, I'm pretty sure someone would have taken it away from me by now.**

**Author's Note: Okay, y'all... buckle up and hold on tight, because it's getting bumpy. We all knew it was going to hit the fan sooner or later, so I'm considering this to be fair warning! Please don't take me out back and beat me! I'll see you next chapter, won't I?**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 17**

The setting sun coursed through the windows of the office. Stan gathered his belongings, preparing to head home. As he exited his office, he was surprised to find one of his marshals still at his desk. Marshall looked up as Stan addressed him.

"You haven't gone home yet?"

"No, I think I'm going to hang out here for a while, get some more paperwork done."

Stan frowned. Marshall had spent the afternoon in an uncharacteristically taciturn state, a fact which had not escaped Stan's notice. He had a feeling it was connected to Mary's sudden disappearance earlier, but he didn't think Marshall was willing to discuss the matter, whatever it was.

"Mary didn't come back?" he tried anyway.

"Nope."

Seeing that Marshall clearly did not intend to elaborate further, Stan said his goodbyes and left.

Marshall contemplated the otherwise empty office. He'd wait here as long as it took, he decided. Mary would show up. She wouldn't come to his house. She would be too afraid to face him, to have to admit to him that she was pregnant with his child, or worse, to have to continue to hide the truth from him. Nor would she want to go home. Her mother and sister would be the last people she would want to see when she had such a pressing matter weighing on her mind. But she might come here; it would be very much like her to show up the one place he might but was not guaranteed to be, in effect rolling the dice and removing the decision from her hands. If she did come, it would mean that on some level she did want to see him, but couldn't trust herself enough to make that leap.

He didn't know what he would say to her if she chose to appear. Though outwardly he had appeared for the afternoon to be placid as ever, his inner self was in turmoil. He had occasionally given thought to having children, but that was so far down the line that he couldn't even call it serious contemplation. There would have to be a woman regularly in the picture, preferably one he was married to… _I think that's been thrown completely out the window_. The thought was accompanied by a feeling of bitterness. He'd always been careful to make sure this kind of thing didn't happen, sparing both himself and the women he'd been with the potential of an emotional and physical ordeal that would very likely be unpleasant. Now, exactly that scenario had been set into motion and he hadn't even remembered that it had happened.

_What the hell was I thinking? _The answer came to him as soon as he thought of the question. _I wasn't thinking. I was wasted. _That was the unforgivable thing; he'd given in to selfish urges at his partner's expense, a price she would now have to pay, one way or another. She would either have the child, something he knew she probably didn't want, or she wouldn't…

He didn't want her to get rid of it, but he knew that wasn't a choice Mary was likely to let him have. For all he knew, she'd done it already. Marshall choked up slightly, brushing away the few tears that slipped out. If she hadn't yet, she might, and how would he be able to argue? Impregnating a woman while in an inebriated state did not exactly make him sound like father of the year material. He doubted she would want to be with him after that, especially considering they didn't even have an established relationship of a romantic nature, and she certainly wouldn't want to be a single mother, not after being raised by Jinx. He slammed his palm down on his desk.

He was angry with her, and with himself; all the choices that had been made up to this point that had led them here, and all the decisions that would now undoubtedly be made without him, twisted him up inside. The future this would lead to almost certainly would not include them together in any form, romantically, as partners, or even as friends. After all the time he'd spent waiting for his chance to be with her, that chance had finally come along, but was already destroyed before it could become anything more.

Marshall clicked on his desk lamp as the office was overtaken by shadow, and in the half-light, he waited.

* * *

Mary watched the shadows lengthening, creeping across the park where she now sat on a bench. She'd been here for hours, not knowing where she could go from here. Home was not an option, nor was Marshall's house, and with those eliminated, precious few destinations remained.

She reached into her pocket, fishing around and drawing out the pregnancy test she'd wrapped in toilet paper and tucked away there. _I can't believe I kept something I peed on. _She gazed at the little pink plus sign, lost in thought. She had for some time figured children were so far off as to be nearly an impossibility. She only had so many years left in which she'd be able to have a baby without it being particularly difficult and she figured most of those years would be gone by the time she found a man she could tolerate enough to marry, if ever. She also didn't want to be pushing seventy when her kid graduated high school, so her remaining window had been closing rapidly.

Except now it was wide open.

Where did that leave her? She didn't want to be a single mother, wasn't even sure how she'd still be allowed to do her job if that was the case, and she really didn't want to be Jinx all over again. _It's not like I can walk up to Marshall and say, "We got busy but you don't remember it, oh and by the way, I'm pregnant with your baby so let's get married." _She snorted, though not particularly amused; if she said that to him he'd probably do it. Mary frowned. When it came right down to it, she didn't want that. She loved Marshall, definitely as a friend and almost certainly as more, but she didn't want to marry him. Not now, and not because of something like this.

The only other thing she could do was to not have the kid. Her heart clenched and she bit her lip. Had any other guy been the father, she'd probably go that route, but this was… _Marshall's baby. _Her hand drifted to her midsection, which didn't feel much different from how it always did, but at the same time the knowledge of what she carried there had changed her perception entirely.

No man had ever been good enough. She had never once looked at a man and seriously thought he was father material. Men mostly shared a universal trait in her eyes: too much like her own father. She had loved him and he had left, and since then no man had been trusted not to do the same, and for the most part that judgment had been appropriate. Marshall was different, she realized; had always been different, set apart from all the other men she judged unworthy. He wouldn't leave her for anything. He wouldn't leave a child that was his for anything, either. _Unless he just hates me that much for not telling him, and that's finally what pushes him away._

Mary's fear, lurking below the surface since she'd read the pregnancy test - no, since she'd realized earlier that she might be pregnant - rose to confront her. _I could lose the most important person in my life. _Mary wiped away a scattering of tears now; her choices were few and none of them good. _Tell Marshall, he hates me, I'm alone and I end up like Jinx. Don't tell him, have the kid, still end up like Jinx. Don't tell him, get rid of his baby… regret it forever and hate myself._

Mary kicked a clump of dirt that lay on the ground in front of her. She hated all this upheaval, all this change… change was the enemy. Her hand hovered over her middle once more. Maybe change wasn't all bad. After all, she at least had a job and an education, which was more than Jinx could say. Even if… _when… _Marshall rejected her, she wasn't necessarily doomed to Jinxhood… was she?

"If it's just you and me, kid, then I guess that's good enough," she whispered. "Even if he doesn't want us, we'll be okay."

Mary got up from the bench, wishing her words had left her feeling any kind of confidence. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the cool air of the desert night had settled over the city. Still not ready to go home, she headed for the office without really knowing why.

* * *

Marshall heard the elevator hum to life in the quiet that had overtaken the office and the sound had his heart in his throat instantaneously. He tried to calm himself; it could be someone visiting an office on another floor… but then the elevator dinged its arrival and he felt the conflict within him ratchet up another notch. There was no way to prepare for this confrontation, because he had no idea how Mary felt or what she wanted. He was operating solely on guesswork, and in this situation, that was not a secure position at all. He quelled his rapid breathing and loosened his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk. There was little he could do to shift the odds his way, not that he even knew what it was he wanted at this point, but he knew that if he appeared agitated, Mary would react poorly and the whole thing would end before it could begin. It didn't help matters that he'd been stewing in self-recriminations for hours, either.

The elevator doors slid open heartbeats after it reached its destination and Marshall heard her exit. She swiped her pass card before she even realized he was there, a testament to her preoccupation.

"Hey, Mare," he murmured softly as she came in. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected greeting.

"Jesus Christ, Marshall, you scared the hell out of me!" she cried, trying to stifle her fear but failing utterly. She was already holding in too much anxiety to be able to stuff any more down. "What the hell are you doing here so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, but I think we both know the answer to that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary bluffed to conceal her razor-edged panic. _She _didn't even really understand her reasons for coming here, so he couldn't possibly know either. "Marshall, I'm really not in the mood for your cryptic bullshit."

"Fine," he replied, beginning to let out some of the irritation that had built over the course of the afternoon. "I think you're here because you knew I might be. I think you came here hoping to leave seeing me up to chance, because you don't have the balls to show up at my house."

"Yeah? And why would I suddenly need to see you so badly?" Mary was on the defensive now; she hated feeling like he knew everything, but she wouldn't allow him to draw her out into an admission she wasn't ready to make.

"I think maybe there's something you want to tell me," he said emphatically, in the tone he used with witnesses once he had them dead to rights and was offering them a last chance to come clean.

"I don't think there's _anything _I want to tell you," Mary bit out defiantly as she began to pace in agitation. She hadn't been certain that was the course she wanted to take, but she wasn't about to be pushed into giving an answer by anybody and Marshall's interrogation had provoked her stubborn streak.

Marshall's jaw clenched, the muscles along it working furiously. Of course, she had to play this out. He should have known she would. She was backed into a corner and had no choice but to come out fighting. The problem was, so was he.

"Tell me this, then; were you going to have my baby without telling me, or did you already go out and schedule an abortion?" Mary recoiled from her partner's words as if she'd been slapped.

"Goddammit, Marshall! This has _nothing _to do with you!" Mary screamed, knowing it wasn't true but unable to refrain from trying to hurt him back. Marshall rose from his seat, self-control all but gone.

"This has _everything _to do with me!" he shouted as he crossed the room to face her. "This has to do with the fact that we were intimate, apparently, and you never told me even though you had every opportunity! And as a result of that…"

"I didn't tell you because you forgot!" Mary felt as if a dam had broken within her; everything she'd been bottling up came pouring out in a flood of anguish. "How was I supposed to admit that the one night of my life that I was actually able to let go and trust another human being was completely forgotten by the person I shared it with?"

"You still should have told me! Do you think I wanted things to end up like this?" Marshall's tone softened. "Do you think I wanted to forget?"

"I don't know _what _you wanted, Marshall! But I'm pretty sure you never wanted this," she gestured toward her abdomen.

"I never said that," Marshall paled. He reached for her hand but she snatched it away.

"Then tell me what you want, Marshall. Tell me right now."

Marshall felt his mouth go dry. He tried, furiously, to make his brain spit out an answer, and he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"I don't know what I want, Mare," he murmured as he looked at the floor.

"Then I'll do whatever I have to," Mary whispered coldly.

"Wait," Marshall called to her as she started to turn away. "Just, give me a few days, please? I can't even think right now."

"Marshall, what good will that do?"

"I'll figure out a way to make this right. I'll take responsibility," he pleaded.

"What does that even mean? That you'll marry me or something? I don't want that."

"I'm trying, Mare, I really am, but…" Marshall sighed. "I just lost my father and now I'm trying to figure out how to be one, and I just can't."

"Then I won't give you anything to worry about," Mary murmured quietly as she turned toward the door.

It was at that moment that they both realized they hadn't been alone for some time. Stan stood in the doorway, frozen in place and still holding the door open. They had been too caught up in their argument to hear him swipe in, and how much he had heard, neither of them knew.

Mary bit her lip, trying to hold back tears as she brushed by her boss and headed for the elevator. Marshall watched her go, and didn't miss it when she lifted her hand to brush away tears as the elevator closed. He stood stock-still, immobilized by shock, until he was jolted back to reality by Stan clearing his throat.

"I, uh, left my laptop cord in my office and I wanted to get on the internet," Stan mumbled awkwardly. "I just get kind of lonely sometimes and…" he trailed off, uncertain how to respond to what he had just witnessed.

"I fucked up royally, Stan," Marshall choked out, not hearing a word his boss had said. He wasn't in tears, not yet; he struggled not to break down in front of the balding man.

"I guessed as much," Stan murmured. "Look, whatever is going on here… work it out between yourselves, soon, and when you have… we'll all sit down and figure something out."

Marshall nodded. Sensing his marshal needed space to work through things on his own, Stan retreated to the elevator and left.

Marshall leaned heavily on Mary's desk, then slid to the floor. This had gone far beyond the point of simply working things out, and he had no idea where to even start. His back against the desk and his head in his hands, Marshall let the tide of emotions he was feeling wash over him, and cried.

* * *

Mary sat in her car in the parking lot, her forehead on the steering wheel. Pent up emotions poured out of her, and she cried and raged and cried some more. She had done this, all of this, to herself; a series of bad decisions culminating in a final, devastating loss of emotional control. She had let her fear dictate the course of the fight with Marshall, and things had been said that would never be fixed. It was over.

Her hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel and her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. _At least I have this. Just once, I was able to let my guard down, and this happened, and no one can take that away from me._

She wept, and clung tightly to the only part of Marshall she still had.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight, just an all-consuming devotion to M&M!**

**Author's note: I hope everyone's still hanging in there after that last chapter! I really think it had to go there before our intrepid protagonists could move forward. Thank you for all your lovely reviews!**

**Also, I'm really beginning to enjoy Stan's role in things. I thought you all should know. =P**

* * *

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 18**

A choked splutter of a car failing to start echoed throughout the parking lot as Stan left the Sunshine Building. He followed the sound and found a very familiar, battered, purple Probe. His inspector sat behind the wheel… or more accurately flailed behind the wheel as she smacked at it and various instrument panels, venting her anger in a string of curses that Stan could hear clearly in spite of the window glass between them. She collapsed forward against the wheel, heaving huge, wounded sobs. Before he knew what he was doing, he had the door open and Mary in his arms. He shushed her soothingly as she cried.

He'd seen her break down exactly once, when her partner had been wounded in the line of duty, and they had both pretended afterward that it hadn't happened. That, though, was nothing compared to this. Even then, she would not have allowed him to comfort her like this, always maintaining that professional boundary. He was generally no more comfortable crossing that line than she was, but now… she needed someone, and he realized he was not only the person who was here, but the only person left.

The tears gradually subsided. Mary wiped at her wet face, feeling a rush of embarrassment overcome her.

"Jesus, Stan… this is ridiculous," she whispered.

"No, it isn't," he murmured gently. "It's okay, Mary."

It wasn't okay, they both knew, not by a long shot, but Mary accepted the thin comfort her boss's platitude offered.

"My car won't start, again," she explained as she pulled away from him.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride home. You can deal with your car later."

"I wasn't going home… I don't want to see my family right now. I was maybe going to get a motel room or just sleep in the car."

Stan frowned at her tone. She sounded so resigned, like she had given up. He was worried for her, and it felt wrong to leave her alone in some motel.

"Come on, Inspector. You're coming home with me," he decided.

Mary looked for a moment as though she might refuse, then slowly nodded. If the truth were known, though she felt she had nowhere to turn, she was afraid of being by herself. It wasn't that she thought she might hurt herself - at least in a physical sense, that had never been in her nature - but the idea of being really and truly alone in both a literal and figurative sense was terrifying, and she was too battered emotionally to resist. She followed her boss to his car.

Once at his house, Stan led her to the bedroom. She protested that she could just take the couch, but he insisted, and she gave in. After leaving her shoes on the floor and her gun and badge on the nightstand, she pulled the blankets over herself and curled up fully clothed in a strange bed that smelled familiarly of her boss. He sat on the edge of the bed and Mary was surprised when he began to stroke her hair soothingly. The sensation washed over her with a strange familiarity and nostalgia, and she realized that her father had done this for her when she was small, before he had left. Silent tears fell, unseen by her boss, who stayed until she fell asleep. The last thing she felt as she drifted off was gratitude.

Stan settled on his couch, having seen his distraught inspector safely to sleep. He paused, a thought occurring to him, and he pulled out his cell phone and opened a text field. _Mary's car broke down so it's in the lot but she's safe. Didn't want to go home so she's at my place. - Stan. _He sent the message to his other distraught inspector; he knew that there wasn't much he could do for Marshall for the time being, but the man would have been worried when he found her car abandoned and would need to know she was alright, even though that was a relative condition at the moment.

He pulled a throw blanket over himself as he thought about the woman sleeping in his bedroom. The professional boundary that usually existed between them kept them from having to face up to certain facts that both found intensely uncomfortable under normal circumstances. Stan had felt for some time that he was the closest thing to a father she had, something she would never acknowledge openly but seemed to depend on, and his two marshals were, to him, like the family he'd never managed to have. He had never realized that there was a void for him where children should have been until the two of them had filled it. Part of him had pushed the notion away; it was somewhat ridiculous, since he wasn't old enough to be their father by any means, and yet… _we're a family, somehow. _He made himself comfortable and prepared to sleep.

_I just hope we can stay that way.

* * *

_

Marshall jumped as his cell phone chirped in his pocket. He was still sitting on the floor in the office, leaning against his partner's desk, though he had cried himself out some time ago. He pulled the phone out and found a text from his boss. He read it and felt relieved to know that Mary was safe and accounted for. Uncomfortable memories of another time her car had been found abandoned stirred to the surface and Marshall struggled to push them away. He picked himself up off the floor; he'd wallowed here long enough. It was time to go wallow at home.

He opened his front door and chucked his keys onto the hall table as he closed the door behind him. He made for the kitchen in the dark, not bothering to turn on lights until he reached his destination. Marshall reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, setting it on the counter. He stopped midway through reaching for a glass, and pressed his palms to the counter as he stared at the bottle.

_This isn't going to help anything. This is what got us into this mess in the first place._

He opened the bottle and tipped it over the sink. He watched as the amber liquid slithered down the drain. Pulling a few more bottles out of the cupboard, he repeated the action until his house was more or less dry. He didn't feel the need to bother with cough syrup and mouthwash as Mary had once told him Brandi had done, when Jinx was drying out; he wasn't even close to that far gone. He just didn't want to crawl into a bottle again and compound his problems.

_Their _problems. He couldn't afford to pretend that this was all about him, nor could he even allow the luxury of believing he was the most affected by the recent turn of events. This was so much more about Mary, and their unborn child, if she didn't opt to get rid of it. _Though I probably sealed the deal on that decision tonight, _Marshall thought bitterly. He'd failed. He'd had a chance to tell her that he wanted this, that he wanted _them, _and he hadn't been able to tell her. He'd been angry and he'd been put on the spot, never expecting that she would actually ask him for his input. He should have known better; this wasn't like fighting over where their desks went and it wasn't even like fighting over how to best protect one of their witnesses. It was the most important decision she would ever make, and she had asked him… _and I blew it. It's completely, totally, and irreparably fucked all to hell._

Marshall sat on the floor of his kitchen, back to the wall, arms crossed and resting on his knees, and there he sat until the first light of dawn began creeping through the window. He tried to think his way through it over and over, trying to find a way to set things right, but he couldn't find a workable solution. As the room brightened, he finally conceded that he had no idea what he was doing. He needed to consult a higher power.

He got up and picked up the phone, dialing quickly, then silently waiting for an answer. She'd be awake, he knew; like him, she was an early riser and always had been. There was a click and a comfortingly familiar female voice came on the line.

"Hey, Mom…" he murmured into the receiver. "It's Marshall."

* * *

Stan woke to insistent knocking on his front door. Heaving himself off of the couch, which he had discovered was completely unsuitable for sleeping on, he made his way over to answer it. A quick look through the peephole revealed Marshall, waiting on the porch. Stan opened the door.

"I thought you could use this," Marshall held up a bag. Stan took it and looked inside.

"Pancake mix and chocolate chips?" he asked, perplexed.

"You didn't have a plan for what to do with her when she wakes up, did you?" Marshall replied blandly.

"Not exactly. There wasn't a lot of planning involved," Stan muttered as his mind sorted through a disturbing series of images of his possible fate had he failed to provide Mary with food. "Come on in, Marshall."

The taller man stepped inside and followed his boss to the kitchen.

"Have a seat," Stan gestured to the table. Marshall settled into one of the chairs. "So, what brings you? Not that I can't guess, but after last night I didn't expect you'd be ready to talk so soon."

Marshall sighed. "I called my mom."

Stan's eyebrows rose. "You haven't talked to her since after the funeral, right?"

"Yeah. I didn't know what else to do. She told my brothers about my dad being sick, by the way."

"So you're back on good terms, then?" Stan asked as he opened the pancake mix and set about preparing breakfast.

"Not quite," Marshall murmured. "She's pretty pissed that I treated Mary the way I did. She says it's frightening enough to be staring down the barrel of motherhood without a fight like that on top of it."

Stan nodded and murmured his agreement while he stirred chocolate chips into the pancake batter.

"She told me I needed to come over here and take it like a man, although I already knew that much. She also said that if Mary saw fit to hand me my man-parts on a platter, I'd have no one to blame but myself." Both men winced as Marshall recounted his mother's admonition.

"I knew there was something about your mom I liked," Mary's voice came from the doorway. Marshall and Stan both looked up, not having realized she had woken up.

"Mary!" Stan exclaimed a little too brightly. "There's about to be pancakes, if you can hold out for a few more minutes!"

Mary smiled faintly at his efforts to placate her. "Thanks, Stan, that sounds great."

"You know," Stan offered tentatively, "it was actually Marshall's idea."

"Was it, now?" Mary eyed her partner skeptically.

"I just want to talk, Mare," Marshall held out his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I would have thought that you had made your intentions clear enough last night," she said, her voice sounding more tired than accusatory.

"Well, I didn't. I wasn't clear at all, and for that I'm sorry," Marshall apologized. "Can we just talk, please?"

Mary sighed. "Yeah. Come on, we can talk in the living room," she offered, leading the way. Marshall followed, and after watching her get settled on the couch, he sat what he judged to be an appropriate distance; close enough to convey a sense of solidarity, but far enough to give her personal space should she need it.

"Alright, talk," she ordered shortly.

"I should never have said the things I said last night," Marshall began. "I was angry that you kept a secret like that from me, and I didn't know how to feel about you being pregnant. I didn't handle any of that properly and none of what I said to you was excusable."

"Fair enough," Mary muttered quietly. Marshall watched her for a moment and decided it was safe to continue.

"When you asked me what I wanted, I didn't know how to respond. Considering the manner in which we'd… been together… I didn't think you would care what I wanted."

"How could you think I wouldn't care what you wanted to do with your own baby?" Mary asked, incredulous.

"I see now that I was wrong, Mare. At the time, though, I thought you were planning to do whatever you thought was best for you, and you wouldn't exactly be wrong in doing so," Marshall explained himself. "Not after what I did."

"After what _you _did?" Mary scoffed. "I have news for you, Marshall. I was there too, and unlike you, I wasn't drunk. I'm the one who's to blame for this."

"That," Marshall cut her off forcefully, "is a complete load of crap, Mary. The fact that I was drunk does absolutely nothing to mitigate my role in this. I'm responsible for it too, and I meant it when I said I'd live up to that."

"Yeah, Marshall, and I meant it when I said I wasn't going to marry you or any stupid shit like that. I'm not the marrying kind, knocked up or otherwise."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Marshall protested. "We can work this out any way you want to… but I want to be in my child's life. Even if…" his throat choked up with emotion and he trailed off.

"Even if, what?" Mary prompted.

"Even if you don't want to keep it, I still want it," he whispered, his eyes beginning to fill with tears, "so please, please don't get rid of it. I could raise it by myself, if you don't want it, but… please, Mare."

Mary contemplated her partner, who sat before her completely vulnerable, his entire world hanging on whatever she said next. The man loved her, she realized; he wanted so much more than what he was asking of her, but he felt he could ask for no more than that which the two of them had made.

"Marshall…" Mary answered him, her voice soft and pitched low, "I never said I was getting rid of anything." Her partner sucked in a breath; she realized he hadn't been breathing as he had waited for her to speak.

"But last night, you said you wouldn't give me anything to worry about," his eyes searched hers, uncertain.

"I only meant I wouldn't force you to raise a kid you didn't want. You were the one who got all hopped up on abortions," she muttered, glancing away nervously. "I have no problem with you being in the picture, if that's something you actually want."

"Really?" he breathed, hardly able to believe her words.

"Yeah, Doofus, _really,_" she reassured him.

Marshall leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to him closely. She heard a telltale sniffle, and knew he'd started to cry as he rocked her gently. She allowed herself to relax into the warmth of his embrace. Mary knew she and Marshall had a lot to work out, but they were still best friends, and that was a place to start.

"You are such a pansy, Marshall," she whispered fondly, and he held her more tightly as his soft laugh cut through his tears.

Stan stood in the doorway, a plate of pancakes in his hands. He couldn't stifle the smile that came to his face as he watched his marshals hold each other. Clearly some progress had been made, and he returned to the kitchen and set the waiting plate of food on the table with a sense of satisfaction.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight; if I did, I think it's clear by now that the show would be very different!**

**Author's Note: Wow, y'all, it looks like I only have one more chapter left after this! This story flew right by! Thank you for all your reviews, input, and encouraging words. This chapter has some stuff I hope you'll enjoy; some fluff and a little bit of serious business dealt with in preparation for wrapping this thing up. Enjoy, and I hope you'll all stick around for the next and final chapter! =)

* * *

**

**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 19**

"I swear to God, Marshall, if my feet are in stirrups and something's stuck up my junk, _you _won't be in the room!" Mary growled.

"Mare, come on, I have to be here for this!" Marshall whined.

"Which is why I'm opting for the _external _sonogram, end of story!"

"You know, the external ultrasound should be fine," the technician offered. "It's completely up to you. We can reserve the internal option in the event we need a clearer look, but I don't foresee that being a necessity."

"See, Marshall? Now take your internet research and shove it. I don't think I need to tell you where."

"It's perfectly normal for pregnancy hormones to trigger emotional fluctuations," the tech said to Marshall kindly.

Marshall sighed. "No… she's pretty much always like this."

The tech winced as he patted Marshall sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Mary snapped. "Don't think I didn't see that!"

"If you'll lie back and relax, I'll apply the gel and we can begin," the tech spoke up hopefully.

"Fine, let's get this over with," Mary grumbled as she exposed her belly, which was still more or less flat although she'd felt a bit bloated for a while now. She firmly believed that all things related to doctor visits were invasive and embarrassing, and this experience was proving to be no exception. Every website she had read - _Marshall's not the only one who can surf the web, so there_ - described the ultrasound as a bonding experience, but so far she was only feeling irritated. She was pulled from her thoughts by the application of the ultrasound gel.

"Ugh! That's cold! And goopy," she complained.

"Mary, calm down," Marshall caught her hand in both of his squeezing gently. "It's just gel_. _There's only so much the man can do, and if you just let him do his job, he can get it done that much faster."

"Okay…" she lowered her voice. "But just so we're clear, I'm only calming down because I want this over and done, not because you told me to."

Marshall smirked at her. "That's my girl."

Mary snorted in somewhat false irritation; she didn't want to admit it, but the fact that Marshall was holding her hand did make her calm down a little. They still hadn't sorted out what they were to each other, beyond partners and friends, but Marshall clearly wanted to be there with her every step of the way. Sometimes, it was too much for her, and he had dutifully remained in the waiting room during her initial examination a few weeks earlier when she had refused to let him come back with her. There were some boundaries Mary wasn't going to let drop anytime soon, maybe not ever, and getting a pelvic exam in front of her partner was miles across the line as far as she was concerned.

Consumed by her thoughts once more, she didn't pay much attention to what her ultrasound tech was saying; mostly, he seemed to be engaging in something like a game of medical hide and seek, and was narrating almost to the point of irrelevancy. He made a few adjustments and pressed the business end of the device here and there against Mary's skin. _Sure, buddy, just take your time. It's not like I have anywhere to be or anything._

Suddenly, the ambient noise of the sonogram was accompanied by an odd, rhythmic swishing sound, and Mary felt Marshall's hands tighten on hers minutely as he straightened in his seat.

"What is it?" she asked, now wishing she'd bothered to pay attention. "What's that sound?"

"It's the heartbeat, Mare," Marshall whispered, looking at the screen with an expression of awe.

She turned to the screen where the tech now pointed with his free hand.

"That's your baby's heart, right there," he told her, smiling.

"Well, I'll be damned," she murmured as she watched the screen in fascination.

After a moment, she redirected her gaze to her partner. She couldn't miss the trembling of his lower lip, nor the glistening in his eyes that told her he was going to be in tears shortly.

"Oh God, here we go," she said, rolling her eyes, and sure enough, a few tears soon made their way down Marshall's face. He lifted her hand, still cupped in his, and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. Mary felt a hint of a blush creeping into her face and hoped it wouldn't be that visible. Marshall wasn't done, however; he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. _So much for hiding the blush, _Mary groaned inwardly as her face reddened further.

"Say cheese," the tech murmured softly as he pressed a few more buttons.

"What?" Mary asked, confused.

"Traditionally, people get to take home a few prints from their ultrasound," he replied. "I like to try to get one when the parents are doing something cute like that, it really personalizes the moment." The machine spat out a few slips of paper, which the tech handed to Marshall, who had reached for them.

Mary watched her partner smile softly as he traced his fingers over the pictures.

"Hey, give 'em here, I want to see," she reached to grab them.

"Settle down, I'm still looking!" Marshall gently deflected her hand. "You could say please or something."

"Fine! _Please, _as in _please _don't make me have to render you incapable of fathering a second child!"

"Wasn't aware I'd be needing to," he replied with raised eyebrows.

"Give, smartass!"

Marshall laughed softly as he handed over the prints.

* * *

"I still think it looked like a peanut with a pulse," Mary looked at her copy of the ultrasound photo again.

"Can't you think of something more eloquent to say about the experience?" Marshall drawled as they got off the elevator. "Most people find it to be deeply transcendent."

"Remember who you're talking to, Marshall," she smirked at him.

"That's actually a fairly astute acknowledgment of your own nature, Mary," he teased. "I'm so proud of you."

"Stick it," she muttered. "Oh wait. You did that already."

Stan came out of his office in time to hear Marshall fake-laugh in reply.

"So, today was the big day, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, we got pictures and everything," Marshall fished in his coat pocket for his copy and sidled up to their boss. "See?"

"That's amazing, Marshall," Stan said, taking the print and examining it.

"I know, it's so surreal."

"It looks like a peanut," Mary added for their boss's benefit.

Stan looked at Mary, then turned to address Marshall again. "She's going to scar this kid for life, isn't she."

"Probably," Marshall replied with an overly theatrical sigh and a resigned look on his face.

"You two are so funny! But I think the United States government is going to have a problem with you converting one of their offices into a comedy club," Mary sassed as she deposited her belongings at her desk.

"Speaking of the federal government," Stan spoke, handing back the photo, "I want to have a chat with the two of you, in my office. Nothing formal or on the record, yet, but privacy would be desirable."

The partners followed him into his office, settling nervously into seats across the desk from his.

"I think you can both guess what this is about," Stan began.

Marshall opened his mouth to speak but Stan held his hand out in a warding gesture.

"Before either of you says anything, I want to get this out there, so we're all on the same page."

Marshall traded an anxious look with Mary before both turned to Stan and nodded.

"On the record, officially, nothing regarding the possible paternity of Mary's baby has been reported to me, and I think it would be a good idea for that to continue, for now."

Marshall spoke slowly. "You want me to deny that Mary's baby is also _my_ -" Stan waved him into silence.

"Right now, what I don't _know, _officially, on the record, I don't have to _report, _officially, on the record," Stan replied with a meaningful glance at each of them. Marshall's eyes lit with understanding.

"So what you're saying is that it might be better, for now, if the identity of the father of _Mary's _baby," Marshall emphasized carefully, "remains off the record?"

"Seeing as there are still some details that need to be sorted out between Mary and… _whomever…_ I think it would be best to ensure that options remain open until some decisions are made," Stan replied evenly.

"What? What are you talking about?" Mary chimed in, confused. "It's like you both suddenly started speaking in moon language."

"I think what Stan is trying to say, Mare," Marshall explained, "is that until certain _relationship_ issues are worked out, he doesn't want anything on the record that could, however tangentially, have an impact on our partnership."

"Ohhh!" Mary replied, catching on. "Okay, that makes sense. Because the partnership is important."

"Definitely important," Marshall emphasized.

"And the relationship stuff, that's also important… right?" Mary asked hesitantly.

"Definitely also important," Marshall replied with a trace of a smile.

"So I've made myself understood?" Stan asked his inspectors.

"Perfectly, Stan," Mary replied. "As a personal matter, the father of my baby has no business being part of the official record at this time."

"And as a personal matter, no declarations as to that fact are to be made while at the office or during work-related activities of any kind, but what you say and do outside of this office and on your own time has no place in the official record as far as I'm concerned," Stan assured them.

"Now, Mary," their boss went on, "there are some legal issues I'd like to address. I assume that were something unfortunate to happen to you in the line of duty, Marshall would be appointed your child's guardian, as opposed to, say… your mother?"

"Oh God, yes," Mary snorted. "The woman's a nightmare. No way would I let her raise my kid."

"And Marshall, as your best friend, is a reasonable choice. But if the two of you were to remain partners, that arrangement would make the higher-ups very uncomfortable. If something were to happen to _both _of you… You can see the difficulty. So if that's the arrangement you choose, it would be prudent to appoint a secondary guardian in the event that Marshall is unable to fulfill his role. Will that be a problem?"

"We'll think of someone - I mean, _Mary _will," Marshall corrected himself.

"You've got time to make decisions," Stan continued, shifting his focus from Mary to Marshall, "because Mary's going to be out of the field soon anyway. On that note, we need to discuss assignment of Marshall's temporary partner."

Mary glanced at the floor. The thought of Marshall with a new partner, temporary or otherwise, made her intensely uncomfortable. It also made for far too convenient an arrangement if the higher-ups did decide to reassign them; half of their job would already be done for them. But Marshall couldn't be in the field alone, and Mary knew this decision was absolutely necessary. What she wasn't sure of was how she could trust just any other marshal with her partner's life.

Marshall reached for Mary's hand and squeezed it gently, a supportive gesture Stan did not miss.

"I see no reason to disturb the status quo more than absolutely necessary at this time," Stan spoke reassuringly, "and provided Mary will take over some of the office paperwork and field calls from time to time, I'll partner with Marshall in the field for the duration of her desk-duty."

Marshall grinned, and Mary squinted at her boss.

"Stan, are you secretly also Santa Claus?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, I am not," he replied seriously, "and that's why this arrangement requires your complete cooperation. If anything comes out officially, there's that much less I can do to protect you both."

"As a matter of curiosity," Marshall queried, "suppose things were to become more official on the personal front?"

"If that time should come, I'll maintain plausible deniability of prior knowledge, and I can try to appeal to my bosses on the basis of the excellent record the two of you will undoubtedly continue to maintain as partners in the meantime, which might make a sufficient case to keep you together. If that should prove not to be the case, however… I figure we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Stan paused. "If I can offer you both some advice, off the record? Don't let this job, or anything else, get in the way of something more if you both really want it."

Both marshals nodded thoughtfully, overcome by the sincerity of Stan's advice and by how far out on a limb he was willing to go in order to preserve their partnership, while allowing them time to iron out the personal details.

"Stan, I can't thank you enough," Marshall murmured. He could hardly believe they were being given so much leeway.

"Yeah, Stan," Mary added. "This is probably going to mean a lot of extra work for you, sooner or later."

"None of which compares to the difficulties I'd face in trying to find a new partner for you, Mary," Stan smiled at his inspectors. "So, if you have no further questions?"

"Actually, I have a question," Marshall spoke, raising his hand. He rubbed at his chest and winced. "Can I move my desk away from hers? Her hormones are making my nipples ache something fierce."

"Ew. Not funny!" Mary grumbled as she smacked at her now giggling partner.

"Ugh. You know what?" Stan grimaced and made a shooing motion. "Go, both of you. Just… go."

The partners exited their boss's office and returned to their respective desks. Marshall watched Mary while she got settled. He wasn't sure what the future would bring for them, but he realized they had both just been given the best chance they were going to get. He felt, for the first time in a while, that they actually had a hope of being together. Mary looked happy, he thought; she must have come away from their conversation with Stan feeling more hopeful than worried. He stared for so long, just watching her, the woman he loved, that eventually she caught him at it.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Mary quipped with a saucy toss of her hair.

"I already have one," Marshall smiled at her as he picked up the ultrasound print from his desk and taped it to the edge of his computer screen.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. I have, however, had the most wonderful time writing this story about it!**

**Author's Note: Here we are, at the last chapter. I'm actually a little sad that it's over, but I so enjoyed writing this to share with all of you that I might write something else! Thank you for your wonderful reviews; I dutifully read them all, and each and every one is dear to me. Please let me know what you think of this final installment!

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**Unintended Consequences**

**Chapter 20**

"Oh my God, that coffee smells so good," Mary moaned as Marshall set the cardboard tray on his desk. She made her way over to grab one, but found herself blocked by Marshall's hand as it guarded the cups.

"Hands off, Mare. They're for me and Stan," her partner scolded. "You know what your OB said."

"Yeah. I'm supposed to _limit _caffeine and junk food. She didn't say I couldn't have them _ever._"

"This is clearly the part where you think I don't realize you've been sneaking caffeine when I'm not around, which I in fact do," Marshall replied. "You're at least staying away from the Red Bull, right?"

Mary huffed. "Yes, I am. I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were," Marshall said, mollified. "This one's for you."

Mary snatched the cup and took a sniff. "Hot chocolate? What happened to cutting back sweets?"

"Better than coffee," Marshall shrugged. "Besides, it's mostly milk, and that, you're definitely allowed to have."

Mary grunted and took a sip. It _was _good. Not what she _wanted, _but still good. Marshall reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his fingertips to gently graze her cheek.

"You know I'm not trying to make you miserable, right?"

"Yeah, Marshall, I know," Mary sighed. "I'm miserable enough on my own anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm just constantly crabby and sad about random things. And I feel _fat._ I don't particularly like it."

Marshall eyed his partner. "You've maybe gained a little weight, but it's normal, and it really doesn't look bad on you."

"You were supposed to lie!" she cried out as she socked him in the arm with her free hand, the other still cradling her hot cocoa, which was becoming more appealing by the minute. She smiled slightly as she took another sip.

Marshall smirked with approval as she settled at her desk, cocoa in hand and apparently feeling better. He rubbed his arm; getting to punch people usually had that effect on Mary.

The morning wore on, business as usual, and Mary eventually managed to wheedle a cup of green tea out of her partner when she started feeling dozy.

Around lunchtime, Stan went out for food and returned with some promising-looking paper bags that had Mary's immediate attention.

"Whatcha got there, Stan?" she demanded, surveying the bags with a hungry eye.

"Tuna sandwiches for you and me, chicken salad for Marshall," Stan replied with a smile.

"No, absolutely not!" Marshall swooped in, intercepting the bags before Mary could get at them. "Seriously, Stan, do you know how much mercury is in tuna fish? She just had tuna _yesterday._"

"How much longer is he going to be like this?" Stan asked Marshall's already irritated partner.

"Still another five months or so before Mother Goose here can get at the kid directly and I'm free to eat like a normal human being," Mary grumbled.

"God help us all," Stan muttered as he reached into one of the bags Marshall was rummaging through and retrieved his sandwich before retreating to his office.

"I take it I'm not getting my tuna anytime soon," Mary addressed her partner. "So what, and more importantly _when, _am I going to get to eat?"

"Here, take mine," Marshall said, handing her the chicken salad.

"So let me get this straight: you and Stan get to eat tuna fish, and I'm stuck with -" Mary pulled the lid from the plastic container. "Hey, this actually looks pretty good. But still, why should you guys get to have that when I have to eat this?"

Marshall heaved a sigh. "If it'll make you feel better, Mare, I'll just skip lunch. Okay?"

"… No, it won't make me feel better. Don't be stupid. Eat your tuna," Mary murmured, eyeing her partner guiltily. "Why would you even suggest that?"

Marshall just smiled as he sat at his desk, picking up the sandwich that was now his.

The pair had just finished eating when Stan emerged from his office holding a fax. "I need you to go pick up a witness from the St. Louis office. They're running a manhunt out that way and they can't spare the manpower."

Marshall sat up straight, clearly agitated, and Stan didn't miss the nervous glance he cast in his partner's direction.

"Relax, Marshall," their boss forestalled the impending argument. "It isn't an urgent relocation; they were going to send the guy here anyway. They just want to keep him on schedule. He's fairly low-risk as witnesses go, and the threat assessments their office did came back clean."

"So that's, what, like three or four days roundtrip?" Mary asked.

"Yeah," Marshall answered, "maybe only three if we trade off driving. Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Hell yes, I'm up to it! I'm pregnant, not crippled, you know."

"People use words like 'handicapped' or 'disabled' now, Mare," he corrected her before returning his attention to their boss. "Anyway, Stan, I'm going to want to review those threat assessments before we leave. I assume you want us on the road ASAP?"

"You got it, Marshall. Take an hour to get your ducks in a row and then roll out."

* * *

So it was that they found themselves in a little motel in… Mary tried to remember what town they were in, but couldn't. They'd probably make St. Louis sometime tomorrow, and get on the road back the day after. They'd opted for a four day trip; Marshall had found the threat assessments to be satisfactory, and decided they'd be better off if they were in less of a hurry. They would also have time to process their witness in on the day of their return, which would make getting him settled easier.

_Not really _our _witness, _Mary thought as she got out of the shower, _more like Marshall's witness. _The time that she could remain in the field was rapidly reaching an end. She dried and pulled on her pajamas, or more accurately a tank top and some pants she'd borrowed from Marshall. Standing before the mirror, she lifted the hem of her top and studied her reflection. For a little over a week now, she'd been noticing a swelling that was most definitely not just fat, and it was becoming more pronounced. She had noticed that she wasn't as light on her feet anymore, either, and she frequently felt tired. Before long, she'd become a liability to Marshall rather than being his backup. She sighed, dropped her shirt, and brushed her hair. The progression of her pregnancy made her happy on one level, though even that was laced with occasional bouts of anxiety, but she was also sad that she wouldn't be with Marshall as much at work.

_Marshall. _She still wasn't sure where they were headed. He was all over her, as far as her diet went, but not so much in ways she would have appreciated more. She had caught him staring at her often over the past month, a look in his eye that she couldn't quite put a name to. Whatever that look was, it made her tingle with excitement… and yet, he hadn't made any distinct advances that she had noticed, and she'd been watching. Mary would usually go for something she wanted, but there was so much more at stake here that she hesitated. _Maybe that's what's holding him back, _she thought, absently caressing her bump.

A knock on the door pulled her back to reality. She opened it to find Marshall, already showered and in similarly ludicrous pajamas.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked, looking slightly anxious.

"Why wouldn't it be? My ass has gotten too big for falling into the toilet and drowning to be a possibility," she said sarcastically.

"Alright," Marshall placated her. "You were just in here for kind of a while and you were so quiet, I thought I'd check. Besides, I'd like to brush my teeth sometime tonight."

"Come on in, then," she invited him with a tilt of her head. "I was just getting to that."

Toothbrushes were moistened, toothpaste dispensed, and the partners stood side by side, silent except for the rhythmic swishing of bristles on teeth. Mary spat and rinsed. Marshall watched her, and mumbled something unintelligible around his toothbrush in what sounded to Mary to be a nagging tone.

"What was that? You've got a little something right here," she said, grabbing the handle of his toothbrush and jiggling it in his mouth, "and I can't make out what you're saying."

Marshall's brow creased and he glared at her, making a sound of discomfort before spitting toothpaste into the sink.

"I said, you're supposed to brush for two minutes," he muttered, popping the toothbrush back in.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Like it matters that much."

Marshall shook his head and kept brushing.

"I think," Mary spoke hesitantly, "this is going to be my last transport for a while."

Marshall froze, staring at her, and awkwardly spat out the remainder of his toothpaste.

"Why's that?" he asked before rinsing.

"I'm getting fat, slow, and tired, Marshall," she sighed. "It's just time. Besides, I'm starting to show, and it isn't something I want all my witnesses to know about. Some of them would be alright, like the Billups, but some of them I wouldn't trust not to try to use it to get more information on me. I don't want to compromise my identity or yours."

Marshall nodded slowly as he wiped his mouth on a towel. "You're showing? I knew you'd gotten a little heavier but other than that, I couldn't tell."

"My clothes are still hiding it, kind of," Mary shrugged. "Not for much longer, though."

"Can I see?" Marshall asked, his curiosity piqued. Mary lifted her shirt obligingly.

He crouched in front of her, his eyes widening slightly as he observed the not yet large but still unmistakable bump. He reached, fingers brushing over her skin. Mary fought to keep her breathing even. Something about this made her feel strangely excited. Marshall stood, his hand still caressing her belly, and his eyes met hers.

"This is really amazing, Mare," he whispered, his gaze filled with emotion but with something else as well: heat. Mary realized he wanted her just as he leaned in and kissed her. It was soft and slow, yet urgent. She felt his hands slide up her ribs and around to her back as his tongue entered her mouth and caressed hers slowly. She moaned softly into the kiss, her arms slipping around her neck, and before she knew it, they were heading in the direction of one of the motel room's beds.

Mary urged Marshall against the bed and when he sat, she climbed eagerly into his lap, straddling him. Her kisses were frenzied; she hadn't been with anyone since the one time they'd been together, and her impatience had reached its boiling point. She pulled Marshall's shirt over his head and threw it to the floor, but he caught her hands in his before she could continue.

"Mary," he murmured, "are you sure you want to do this?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I want to do this," Mary hissed. "Do you realize that I've already spent a ridiculous amount of time _not _doing this? If I don't do it soon, I'm gonna die!"

"Are you sure it isn't just the hormones talking?"

"I am damn sure a lot of it _is _the hormones talking! I've wanted it so badly lately that I'm lucky I don't have arthritis from all the times I've had to do it myself!"

"That isn't very likely to happen, medically speaking," Marshall stammered, overwhelmed by the mental image her words provided as well as by her presence in his lap.

"Whatever, numbnuts! Just, please, do this for me. I need you, Marshall," Mary whimpered.

Marshall nodded slowly, and pressed his lips to hers again. In short order, he was pressed to the bed beneath her. Her weight rested mainly on his hips, a pleasant sensation, as was that of her slightly rounded belly pressed against him. She kissed him repeatedly, once more caught up in her fervor, and he found her to be intoxicating, but…

"Mary, I have to know something before I can do this," Marshall pushed her back from him, gently but firmly, his eyes boring into hers.

"For Christ's sake, Marshall, _what?_" she whined.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

She almost brushed him off with a flippant reply, but even in her aroused state she could see how serious he was, that he needed this. She studied him for a moment, knew what her answer was, what it had in fact been since before they had first been intimate. This was something she could hardly ever bring herself to say, not to anyone. But this was Marshall, and Marshall was and had always been different.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Marshall… I love you."

She saw tears welling in his eyes, but to her surprise, he kissed her rather than shedding them.

"I've loved you for so long, Mare," he breathed in her ear as he held her close.

She didn't have to tell him to get back to business; he did that on his own, but the tone was now wholly different. His passion, before barely restrained, was now unbridled, blending with his usual gentle manner in an exhilarating mix of emotion and physical pleasure that had Mary desperate for more. Their clothes shed, Marshall worked slowly but deliberately, kissing her neck before making his way past her collarbone to her breasts. He kissed lightly, with the occasional caress from his tongue, and the sensations shot through Mary like electricity. Her breathless moans urged him on, and as she ground against him, he found himself pressed to her entrance.

Mary was done with foreplay; she lowered herself slowly onto him, reveling in the guttural moan that escaped him as she did. He filled her, his hands gripping her hips, and she waited a moment to give them both time to adjust to the change in sensation. Then, with a slow rock of her hips, she lifted herself nearly completely off of him and came back down. Each movement was ecstasy, and as their pace increased, Mary was nearing the edge. Yet another thrust filled her to completion, and she was gone. She cried out her partner's name as he continued to move within her, close to his own end, and at last, Marshall followed her into bliss with a ragged groan.

They laid in bed for some time, allowing the afterglow to settle over them, before Mary spoke.

"I really do love you, Marshall," she whispered.

"I know," he replied softly. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it, no matter how badly you wanted to sleep with me."

The statement earned him a smack on the arm. He laughed.

"It's true. Besides, that was a compliment to your integrity, not an insult."

"Oh," Mary murmured with a blush. "Sorry for hitting you, then."

"I love you too," he answered her earlier statement.

"How are we going to make this work?" she wondered aloud.

"It won't be that difficult." He rolled to face her, pulling her close. "The hardest part is already over with."

"How do you figure that?" Mary looked at him, incredulous.

"We're together. Now all we have to do is stay that way," he brushed his fingers along her cheek. "Besides, Stan's got us covered."

"What if he can't help us? What if they separate us, transfer one of us so we can't be together?" she asked, worried.

"If they try, I'll leave the service and go wherever you go," he answered.

"Marshall, you can't do that," Mary protested. "You told me it's all you've ever wanted to be."

Marshall shrugged. "There are other things I want more, now. And you couldn't be the one to quit; you'd never be happy doing anything else."

"You would do that? For me?" Mary's eyes glistened. She couldn't believe what her partner was telling her.

"For you… I'd do anything." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"So, wherever we end up…" she trailed off, a tear slipping from her eye.

"Wherever we end up, as long as we're together, we'll be okay," he whispered.

Neither Mary nor Marshall would ever have predicted the events that had led them here; it seemed they had progressed miles in only months, and now found themselves bound together by the most unlikely circumstance of all, their unborn child. But neither of them harbored regrets any longer, and both knew the truth: no matter where they went or what they did, no matter what was in store for them, they would continue to weather life's storms and enjoy the rest of it together. As long as they had each other, they would be fine.

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~ The End ~


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